


Ibiza Shore

by dutty (vodka)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Drunk Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodka/pseuds/dutty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn knows going on a reality show is a bad idea, especially when he's got a girlfriend back home who's cross with him more often than not, but he really wasn't prepared for just how out of hand things were going to get in Ibiza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry but it needed to be done. The next chapter should be posted this weekend, and from there on it'll be a weekly schedule. *knocks on wood*  
> Shout-out to the anon who came up with this premise.

_’Ibiza Shore’ is yet another unnecessary British spinoff of MTV’s infamous ‘Jersey Shore’. We can hear you rolling your eyes from here, but before you stop reading, there’s something that supposedly sets it apart from its oft-embarrassing Geordie counterpart: ‘Ibiza Shore’ boasts an **all-lad cast**. We somehow doubt that this will do anything to lessen the amount of drunken fights and exposed breasts we’re going to see. _

_The lads, Louis ‘Tommo’ Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Harry Styles, and the heavily tattooed Zayn Malik, will be going on a two-week holiday to Ibiza where they’re apparently meant to experience character growth in between raves. We somehow doubt it, but we’re watching anyway!_  
Christopher Hooton, _Metro UK_

 

 

\--  
 **EPISODE 1: LONDON TO IBIZA**  
\--

“My name is Louis, I’m twenty-one years old, and I’m from Doncaster,” Louis says, already failing at keeping a straight face in front of the camera. He runs a hand through his hair as he squints at the questions on the cue cards the bird behind the cameraman is holding. “I guess I’d describe my personality as… loud. I’m very loud, and I’m a bit of a prankster. I grew up in a house full of younger sisters with just me and my mum to look after them, so whilst I can be an absolute knob, I’ve got a mature side to me as well. I’m very protective of people I care about. I’ve always got my mates’ backs.” 

“I’m not currently in school, but I’d started studying Drama at uni. Hopefully with the money I get from being on the show I’ll be able to go back, quit my shit job Toys ‘R Us. It’d make my mum happy; she thinks I’m too much of a joker and that I go out too much. Ironic that I’ll be doing just that so I can afford school, isn’t it?” 

“My girlfriend, Eleanor will be happy about it, too. I’ll miss her a lot, but I won’t be gone too long, so hopefully I’m too pissed for the entirety of my stay to miss her,” Louis laughs again. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“I’ve never been to Ibiza but everyone knows it’s like, the best place in the world to party. I’m really looking forward to it, I mean, who wouldn’t?” 

\--

“My name is Liam, I’m twenty years old, and I’m from Wolverhampton.”  
“I’ve only recently got into the whole clubbing thing, because I’d grown up thinking I only had one kidney, so I didn’t drink or anything even when I was in college. Then I found out that wasn’t true and let’s just say everything’s been different ever since.” 

“I can’t wait to go to Ibiza. I just ended a relationship with my girlfriend of two years and it’d be quite nice to get away for a bit, go places that don’t remind me of her.” Liam winces a little. He’d meant to sound a lot cooler than that. 

“Any of my friends will tell you that I’m quite sensible, usually. I’m hardworking, the kind of person who likes to think things through, but when I drink… When I drink I can do very stupid things,” Liam laughs, thinking of the time he climbed the ledge of his friend’s flat after drinking too much of the vodka and champagne that’d been a part of bottle service, twelve stories up from the ground and doing the dougie. “I get really, really stupid. And I also black out a lot. It’s funny usually, but it can be a bad thing sometimes. It’s something I probably need to work on.” 

“My goal is to not do anything too stupid. I don’t want my mum to yell at me.” 

“I’m also a little bit awkward at times, can be shy. I’d love to work on that, build a bond with the other lads.” 

\--

“I’m Niall, I just turned twenty, and I’m from Mullingar. Which is in Ireland, which is incidentally the best country in the world. That being said, I’m still ready to go to Spain, get a bit of a tan because I’m white as a ghost.” 

“I think I’m one of those people who can get along with almost anyone. I just love to have a good time, keep everyone happy. I hate unnecessary drama and negativity; so I hope we all get along, make the most of our holiday without any stupid fighting. I’m looking forward to making new friends and making amazing memories that hopefully the people watching will enjoy, too.” 

“My dad doesn’t really want me doing this, thinks I can’t handle my liquor but,” Niall shrugs. “I need to get a surgery on my knees, and extra money won’t hurt with the way the economy is back at home. I just hope my mum doesn’t watch, because I’ve heard that the girls in Ibiza are absolutely amazing and, you know,” Niall wriggles his eyebrows, laughing again. 

“I honestly crack myself up.” 

“I’ll be bringing my guitar with me, so I hope the other lads like jamming, too. I play lots of folk music, what can I say? I’m patriotic. But I like a lot of other stuff, too: Classic rock, Justin Bieber … I really love Justin Bieber. I probably won’t play that at the house, though.” 

“Or maybe I will, who cares, we’re in Ibiza!” 

\--

“Hiiii, I’m Harry,” Harry waves at the camera, a big smile dimpling his cheeks. “I’m nineteen and I’m from Holmes Chapel.” 

“I’ve always wanted to go to Ibiza but I haven’t done it yet, so I’m really excited even though I don’t really sound that excited. I’ve just got a very morbid tone.” 

“I love meeting new people and trying new things, so this is like, the perfect opportunity. All my friends who’ve been tell me I haven’t lived until I’ve had an Ibiza weekend, so hopefully I’m about to start living.” 

“People always say I’m cheeky, and I guess I can be, but I’ll try to be as good as possible, because my sister, Gem’s going to watch this eventually and she won’t let me live anything down. She still reminds me of the time I threw up in the middle of church because I ate too many sweets even though my mum told me not to. I was eight.” 

“I tend to ramble.” 

“I’m not really sure what I want to do with my life. I really like cooking and I’m currently taking Psychology at school even though I’m not sure if I like it that much. I really like photography, too, though. I don’t know. I was even in a band. I’m sort of all over the place. My dad would be thrilled if I got that sorted.” 

“I’ve always done alright with girls, so… There might be romance in the air,” Harry laughs, winking exaggeratedly. “You never know.” 

\--

“My name’s Zayn, I’m twenty years old and I’m from Bradford,” Zayn says, licking his lips nervously. The lights are making him hot and uncomfortable already. “My mates thought it would be a good idea for me to get out and do this and my mum agreed so, here I am.” 

“I’ve got a girlfriend named Christina and I love her a lot, even got her tattooed on me, but… we’re very off and on. Kind of rocky. Need some time away from it all to clear my head.” 

“People always think I’m a bad boy because of where I’m from and how I dress and the tattoos, but I think I’m misunderstood. I’m like, a massive, massive comic book geek. When I was little I wanted to be a Power Ranger and I still kind of do.” 

“I’d be the Red Ranger… Or the White. I’m not sure, but they’re my favourites.”  
  
“I’ve got ‘Zap!’ tattooed on my arm in lick an onomatopoeia bubble,” Zayn says, holding his forearm up. “That’s how much of a geek I am,” he laughs. 

“My mum thinks this will be good for me because I’m like, really awkward and shy. I’ve always needed a lot of time to myself, just quiet. I’d like to come out of my shell a little bit, because I think I need that balance.” 

“My girlfriend doesn’t want me to do this because we’ve had our issues with me going out and doing stupid things before,” Zayn sighs, nervously twisting at the chunky skull ring Christina’d got him for his birthday. “Guess we’ll see how this all goes, then.” 

“I’ve never been on a plane before. I’m a little scared but I think it should be fun.”

\--

The plane ride isn’t long, just a little over two hours. 

Zayn’s stomach had been in knots while they taxied down the runway, fingers digging into the armrests until the plane got higher and higher and the sign to fasten your seatbelts flickered off. 

It was cool after that, flying through clouds, seeing the sea and how small everything looked from so high up. He can’t stop thinking about how weird it is that people have invented something as unnatural but sick as planes. He doesn’t realise how anxious he is until the plane touches down safely and he can’t stop smiling, relief flowing through his body, like he can finally breathe again. 

He does feel ridiculous, though, wondering for the nth time what he’s signed up for as a cameraman follows him and his probably under-packed carryon out of the airport and the bright sun and warm air, a sleek, black limo waiting outside with the ‘Ibiza Shore’ logo stuck to the door. 

“Bienvenido a Ibiza!” the driver says with a big grin as soon as Zayn gets in. His accent doesn’t sound very Spanish. He laughs at Zayn’s suspicious face. “I’m just messing with you, mate. I’m Paul.”

He’s Irish. Zayn feels a little less out of his element now. He’s got Irish relatives; he’s always felt good around the Irish. 

“Are we going to be driving in this thing the entire time?” Zayn asks as they pull away from the terminal, eyeing the bucket filled with ice and champagne bottles warily. This is going to be a mess. There’s no way he’ll leave this experience with his dignity and Christina’s trust in check. He wonders if it’s too soon to leave. 

“You lads are getting the VIP treatment for official events and nights where there needs to be a designated driver,” Paul says. 

Zayn supposes he could come around to this; give it a chance as the cool the air conditioning seeps into his warm skin. Ibiza’s prettier than anything Zayn could’ve imagined as the scenery rolls by, looks all the better when you’re sipping expensive champagne. The sky’s blue, the water’s bluer, the architecture’s incredibly different to anything back home, an eclectic mix of old and postmodern, Catholic and trendy. 

They’re suddenly turning into a courtyard and Zayn’s heart is beating ten times faster. 

The villa they’re staying at is huge, more of a mansion than anything else, Zayn thinks. It’s painted white and yellow, square but all open spaces and patios and striped awnings. There’s a big, blue swimming pool wrapping around the front that looks like it meanders around the entire property. 

“Fucking hell,” Zayn laughs, excitement bubbling up in his chest. “This is amazing.” 

“Welcome home,” Paul grins. 

Zayn can’t tell if it’s the champagne making him feel like going crazy or what, but he unbuckles his seatbelt and runs through the front door, leaving his luggage behind. 

The ceilings are low, the same brown wood as the floor, big beams with planks laid across them. The windows are bare and his suspicions are confirmed when he sees pool water through every window. The pool wraps the entire bloody house. 

The furniture’s nice, leather in the living rooms, a big kitchen that’s split with the dining room, a big picnic bench sat in the middle instead of a dining table like you’d expect. There’s local art hanging on the walls, big ceiling fans that push hot air lazily across the room. 

“Is anyone else here yet?” Zayn asks the cameraman following him, but he doesn’t get an answer. Not that he’s waiting for one, already running to look into the bathroom with its marble countertops and steam room, the big glass doors leaving whoever’s bathing exposed. There’s also a Jacuzzi in the corner that’s surrounded by potted plants. Zayn thinks it’d be a nice place to unwind. 

The bedrooms are upstairs, two beds in one room, three in another, which means four other lads will be joining him, then. He hasn’t met them yet, hasn’t a clue what to expect, but he chooses the middle bed because the patio’s biggest in this room, throws his dead mobile on the bed as a claim to make sure no one takes it. 

He finds the third bedroom, sheer curtains hiding it instead of a door. There’s a big mattress on the floor, artfully draped in sheets that look like they’d been made to look just thrown on. The lamps all have coloured shades and black and white photographs hang from the walls showing close-ups of women’s bodies, just suggestive curves and lines and the texture of skin. 

“Found the shag shack, then. I’ll have to stay clear of here, I’ve got a girl back home.” 

That doesn’t stop him from throwing himself down on the bed, sprawling his limbs and stretching. This is going to be sick. He can’t stop smiling. He doesn’t think he’s been this happy about anything in a long time. 

He does some more exploring outside, finds that they’ve got a barbecue grill past the sliding door in the kitchen. There’s deck furniture and flowers and palm trees, the property blocked in by stonewall. He explores and explores until he finds a little alcove where two deck chairs are laid out beneath big umbrellas, almost like a secret behind overhanging trees. The shallow end of the pool curving to an end in front of them. 

“Romantic,” Zayn laughs. 

He heads back inside, ready to uncap the bottle of _Grey Goose_ he’d seen waiting on the kitchen counter. Now that he’s getting into the swing of things, he figures he might as well start this thing right, needs a little bit more of a push so he stops staring at all the little cameras he sees perched over things, quell the vague feeling of irritation he feels whenever the cameraman gets a little too close to the backs of his heels. 

He finds a shot glass and fills it, saying cheers to no one in particular before swallowing it with a mild wince. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” a voice suddenly echoes in the big empty house. 

“In the kitchen!” Zayn calls back, moving towards the door anyway because he’s too excited and curious about who his first housemate is. Zayn can hear his trainers scuffing against the floorboards, his the wheels on his luggage rolling behind him. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN AND LOUIS~**

“The first thing I noticed about Louis is that he was wearing a Spiderman shirt, so I knew right then and there that we were going to get on.” 

Louis nods, holding his hand out so Zayn can refill his shot glass with vodka. “We’ve got a surprising amount in common. We’ve both got girlfriends and we’re from Yorkshire. Zayn’s in school to become an English teacher, and I wanted to be a teacher, too, isn’t that mental? I wanted to teach Drama.” 

Zayn nods along, smiling so big his nose is scrunched up and his yes are crinkled. He’s stupidly fond of Louis already, likes the energy he gives off and the mismatched tattoos on his arm. “I think Louis and I are going to be partners in crime. We’re definitely rooming together.” 

Louis takes the shot, immediately holding his arm out for another, which Zayn graciously fills. “Come on, mate, you’ve got to take one, too.” 

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says, already seeing that he’s going to be going along with a lot of Louis’ plans and finding he’s surprisingly okay with that. 

“We shouldn’t get too pissed before everyone gets here, though. I think we should play a prank on the last guy.” 

“Yeah?” Zayn raises his shot glass. Louis clinks his against it and they both take their shots. Zayn’s stomach burns like he’s been drinking rubbing alcohol. He knows he’s well on his way to being pissed no matter what Louis has to say about that. 

Louis nods, flashing the camera a smirk that’s absolutely evil. “I think we should all trick him into doing a tonne of vodka shots whilst we pretend to take them, as well, only we’ll be drinking water instead.” 

Zayn lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched cackle, pulling Louis in so he can kiss his cheek. “I think I love you already.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

Zayn and Louis are sat at the bench in the dining room, waiting like vultures to see who’s last. They don’t drink anymore; Louis’ scarily determined when he’s up to mischief, wants them all to enjoy the unlucky sod who does all the real shots making an arse of himself. 

The third bloke to arrive is Niall. He’s got this bright energy as soon as he runs in with a guitar case and a holdall slung over his shoulder. He’s got blond hair and his vest barely covers anything, shows slips of pale skin that’s already turning pink and at least one nipple whenever he moves. 

“It’s so sick that the driver’s Irish, as well,” he says, settling in to do shots. “We had a good chat, wasn’t expecting to have another Irishman to talk to.” 

Louis smiles, pouring him a real shot. “How d’you feel about pranks?” 

“Love a good prank,” Niall grins, knocking the _Grey Goose_ back. “What are you lads schemin’?” 

Louis fills him in on the plan.

They talk more. Zayn thinks Niall’s hilarious. He and Louis are both amazing at banter, apparently not feeling the tiny bit of awkwardness Zayn just can’t shed when he meets new people, no matter how connected he already feels to them. Niall’s a very ‘go with the flow’ kind of person. He doesn’t have a girlfriend and doesn’t really want one, he confesses after another shot. He’s here to have a good time and make friends and Zayn hopes some of Niall’s approach to life rubs off on him. Niall isn’t afraid to look like a twat in front of strangers, has already shown them his white arse just to prove a point about how badly he needs a tan. 

Of course that’s the moment Liam chooses to arrive, eyebrows raised like he’s wondering if he made the right decision. Liam’s got nice arms and nicer Supras and when he suggests they put Drake on, Zayn decides everyone in the house is amazing so far. It turns out Liam likes superheroes, too, asks Louis if he’s actually into Spiderman or if it’s just a shirt he likes. 

“For Valentine’s Day last year, I dressed up like Batman for my girlfriend,” Liam confesses after one shot. “She really got off on me using my utility belt to smack her arse.” 

“Now that’s the kind of shit people are tuning in to see,” Louis cackles, sending the camera a cheeky grin. “Good, quality entertainment.” 

“I’ve never done anything like that, but I did put a girl’s bra on once, and she got weirdly into it,” Niall says. 

“Kinky lot,” Louis says, turning to Zayn. “What about you then? What secrets do you want to reveal?” 

“I once dressed up like a sexy secretary for a Halloween party, like I got my sister to do my makeup and help me with a wig and everything. I swear my girlfriend’s never ridden me that hard in my life. I kept the skirt on.” 

Everyone howls with laughter. Zayn feels good, comfortable. He thinks he’s made friends for life, can’t imagine any of them fighting. It’s weird how he’s already thinking about having them all over for one of his mum’s big dinners, can see Louis getting too competitive with his cousins over a game of FIFA whilst Niall tries to chat up and annoyed Doniya. 

Louis seems to be thinking the same thing, because he says. “I quite like you all already. I can’t help but feel like the last guy’s going to be a twat.” 

“What if he’s like one of them blokes off Geordie Shore just to shake things up? Fake tan and tweezed eyebrows?” Niall says. “I think it’d be a laugh.” 

They all turn when they hear someone saying, “Hiiiiii.” 

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Zayn says. 

“Don’t forget the plan,” Louis says beneath his breath, darting a quick glance towards the empty vodka bottle they’d filled with water. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN~**

 

“So we’re all getting along, everyone’s just like, you know cool, just really good lads, and in walks the last guy, Harry.” 

“The first thing I notice is his hair. It’s really curly and he’s wearing a bloody bandana like he’s Keith Richards or something. Actually, no he looks more like Mick Jagger. Anyway, he’s got his shirt unbuttoned all the way down, plaid of course, and he’s wearing really tight, ripped jeans and bloody Chelsea boots. He’s got a butterfly tattooed on his stomach. I reckon he looks more like he belongs in Shoreditch than Ibiza. Not at all dressed for the weather.” 

“I’m not really sure what to make of him. He’s a very attractive guy. He has dimples and I like that his eyes are green, but something about him just makes me think we’re total opposites and I’m not sure we’ll get along. He’s already got that ‘I just want everyone to like’ me vibe.”

“He is polite, though, posh boy from Cheshire. Shook everyone’s hands before getting himself a shot glass and putting his Burberry bag down,” Zayn shrugs. “Can’t wait for Louis to get him drunk and see what he’s really about.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**


	2. LONDON TO IBIZA

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LOUIS AND LIAM~**

 

“I really do feel a bit bad about this,” Louis says as Liam nods along. “Young Harold seems like a charming lad. He probably doesn’t deserve being viciously pranked so early on.” 

“But the plan’s already been made so,” Liam shrugs. “It’s too late to back down now. We’ll just try not to kill him.” 

Louis turns to Liam, looking both incredulous and very, very amused. “Liam! I’ve created a monster; look at you, just trying not to kill people now. I was going to say we should just forget about the prank.” 

“No you weren’t,” Liam scoffs, eyebrows furrowed. 

Louis grins. “Yeah, you’re right. Vive la Révolution!” 

“Is that Spanish? We’re in Spain. You should say it in Spanish.” 

“Uh… That’s French actually, but I think it’s like, close enough to Spanish. I’m not really sure.” 

“Who said that anyway? Was it Napoleon?” 

“I don’t think Napoleon was in the French Revolution… Actually, I’m not sure,” Louis stares into the camera. “Do you know?” 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

“I hope you can hold your liquor, because we can’t start this thing off being boring,” Louis says, filling Harry’s shot glass with vodka whilst Zayn fills everyone else’s with water. 

Harry shrugs. His grin is lopsided and Zayn feels the urge to press his thumb into the dimple in his left cheek because it’s deeper than the other. Zayn’s always loved dimples. It’d been what’d attracted him to Christina, that and her lilac hair. 

“I do alright, I think,” Harry says, raising his glass. “Have been known to get a little handsy, though, so if you feel a hand on your bum, that’s probably me.” 

Niall laughs loudly. “I like you already.” 

Harry seems pleased with that, raises his glass. “Cheers to good times.” 

They all clink their shot glasses together and Zayn has to stop himself from laughing at the exaggerated wince Louis does as he swallows his water down. It’s even worse than Harry’s pained grimace. 

“Not a big vodka fan,” Harry says, noticing Zayn watching him. 

Zayn shrugs, tipping the bottle of real _Grey Goose_ into Harry’s glass again. “You drink enough and you won’t even notice.” 

“I like the way you think,” Harry laughs, not waiting for anyone else before he swallows it down. Zayn almost feels bad; Harry’s a trusting sort, seems genuinely interested in making friends. But watching his face screw up as the vodka burns his lips and throat and belly is hilarious. He’s bigger than Zayn is, a bit taller and filled out with lean muscle, almost giving Liam a run for the title of henchest in the house, but he seems to be the worst at drinking, nose red by the third shot. 

“How remiss of us,” Louis says suddenly, fingers dramatically splayed on his chest. “We haven’t even shown you around yet. You still haven’t even got a room yet.” 

Harry picks his bag up and Louis makes sure he carries his shot glass with him, Zayn holding the vodka and Liam holding the water. Harry ends up rooming in the two-bed room with Niall, giggling like a child when he sees the shag shack and almost cracking his head going back down the stairs because he’s excited to try the pool out. 

“Oh, we’ve got a grill, sick,” he says. “I’m a pretty good cook, I think we should have barbecues and stuff.” 

“You’re probably not better than me. I’m king on a grill,” Niall says.

Harry looks mortally offended, hands on his hips. “You just haven’t had my cooking yet. I love cooking. I watch Nigella. I worked in a bakery. Well, not baking, but I learnt things.” 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN~**

 

“Harry’s insane,” Zayn declares. “Like, I know that he’s more pissed than everyone else is, but just starts ranting about cooking… Like, is it really that big of a deal? Niall’s not even talking about it anymore and he’s just on about this spinach pie he made last week.” 

“That’s not why he’s crazy, though. He’s crazy because of what happened next.” 

Zayn starts laughing. “He’s got a nice body, though. So I guess, why not?” 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

“Has anyone gone for a swim yet?” Harry asks, finally done ranting about how great a cook he is. He’s put his shot glass down somewhere, swiped the bottle up as soon as Zayn rested it on the wall by the grill, drinking straight from the source now. Zayn had raised his hand to take it back, thinking Harry’d had more than enough, but Louis was none of that, gently pushed Zayn’s hand back down and said, “No, this is too good. Just let it happen.” 

So Zayn did. And now Harry’s face is flushed and he’s gone from talking slow and morbid to talking fast and barking out this ridiculous little laugh that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. Zayn’s no idea what he’s really talking about anymore, no one else seems to, either, because every other sentence seems to be about something unrelated to the one before. The lads are all in stitches, especially Niall, who’s sprawled on a deck chair clutching his stomach and begging Harry to just shut up. But Harry’s on a role now, seems to think he’s become the life of the party rather than the butt of a joke. 

Zayn thinks the prank’s gone too far. It feels unfair now, because Harry’s truly making an arse of himself and everyone’s just laughing at him. Zayn shouldn’t have been as quick to write him off even if he does have East London twat written all over him. He’s not usually that quick to judge, hates when people do it to him. He’s about to ask Harry if he’d like a glass of water or something when Harry starts unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Liam asks, watching Harry throw his shirt onto the ground before unzipping his jeans. 

Harry shrugs, stumbling as he tries to get his unreasonably tight jeans down his legs. He’s managed to pull his boxers down, too, the sharp V of his hips and pubic hair showing above the twisted waistband. There’s a hushed silence and then laughter when Harry pushes the boxers all the way down, too, kicking them off his ankles. 

Zayn’s stunned. Harry’s absolutely insane and his body’s amazing, long legs, thick biceps and a neat waist, a smattering of tattoos all over his pale skin. There’s a vague lankiness to him spite of the bit of muscle he’s got. And, alright, he’s got a thick cock that looks impressive and he’s not even hard yet. 

Zayn also learns he’s got a cute little arse when he turns around and makes a running jump into the pool, round and even whiter than the rest of him, bounces when he runs. 

Louis is the first to speak. 

“I… did not see that coming.” 

“There’s an exhibitionist on every show like this, guess Harry’s ours,” Liam laughs, watching Harry splash up from underneath the water, flinging his hair about. The scarf he’d tied it with is floating away in the opposite direction. “You look like baby Tarzan right now,” Liam calls to him. 

Harry laughs. “You guys should join me!” 

“No way, mate, if I’m going in there I need to put trunks on. I can’t afford that shrinkage on national telly,” Niall says back. 

“Honestly, I thought you were going to be the wild one,” Liam says to Niall.

“What? Why?” Niall frowns.

“You showed us your arse in like five minutes of meeting us,” Louis says, getting up. Niall can’t really argue that. “Anyone want a beer? Saw some in the fridge earlier.” 

“I do!” Harry says, waving his arm.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Louis says. 

Harry pouts, swimming over to the edge. “Zaaaaaynnnnn.”

Zayn can’t stop himself from smiling as he saunters over to the lip of the pool, crouching so that his face is closer to Harry’s, so close that he can smell the pool water dripping off him and the vodka on his breath. Zayn already feels it in his bones that Harry’s going to be trouble; he’s already getting under Zayn’s skin even though Zayn’d been prepared to tolerate him at best, makes Zayn feel strangely protective even though Harry doesn’t seem the type to need someone babying him. “What’s up?” 

“Why isn’t everyone else drunk? I feel like the only drunk one,” Harry says conspiratorially, eyes a little sad. He looked like a drowned cat as he pushes his long hair off his face. 

Zayn doesn’t know what to say. “You alright? You want to lie down or anything?” 

Harry shakes his head. “I know it seems like I’m out of control, and I maybe am sort of, but I always take my clothes off, like I love being naked. Even when I’m sober.” 

Zayn tries not to think about that too much. 

“Come swim with me, I’m lonely. Everyone else is being boring.” 

“I can’t swim,” Zayn sheepishly admits. 

“It’s not deep, my feet touch the bottom over here, please,” Harry bats his wet eyelashes. 

Zayn really doesn’t want to, but Harry’s got the type of face it’s hard to say ‘no’ to. Or at least that’s what Zayn thought before Harry’s fingers close tight around his wrists and he finds himself being pulled in. The water’s cold and fear bubbles up in Zayn’s chest, everything going black as panic takes hold before his head’s above the surface and he’s sputtering for air, holding onto Harry’s waist for dear life even though his feet touch the ground. 

Harry’s laughing and Zayn wants to wring his neck. 

“What if my phone’d been in my pocket? Fuck you,” Zayn starts, but Harry just laughs, shrugging one tattooed shoulder. 

“But it wasn’t.” 

And Zayn finds it hard to be angry. Zayn’s always the kind of person who overthinks, worries too much and keeps it bottled up like his mum’s always said, and Harry’s apparently the complete opposite of that. Everything about him feels so open, from his wide features to the fact that he’s bloody naked with people he doesn’t know and a dozen cameras capturing his every move. Zayn thinks he could use someone like Harry in his life, someone to just remind him that everything isn’t some insurmountable obstacle, that he deserves to be carefree, too, sometimes. 

It’s crazy how Zayn feels like he and Harry are the epitome of night and day, but yet Harry’s got this weird pull on Zayn that he doesn’t feel with the others. He doesn’t know what to make of it or what it means. He doesn’t usually get on with people like Harry. 

He’s suddenly aware of his arms still around Harry’s waist, his soaked shirt against Harry’s wet skin, Harry’s fucking dick floating and pressing against his hip. Harry’s eyes are even prettier up close and Zayn can’t help but notice that Harry’s looking at his mouth. It feels like something should happen, like Zayn needs to press his mouth to Harry’s or pull away right now. 

“Are you two going to kiss or something?” Louis’ voice rings out. 

The moment’s over, Zayn pushes away, turning to see Louis stepping down from the patio. 

“You ruined it, me and Liam were waiting to see what was gonna happen,” Niall laughs, reaching for one of the beers Louis’ holding. 

Louis walks over to the pool, pressing one into Zayn’s hand and giving him a look that screams ‘we’re talking about this later’. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL AND LIAM~**

 

“Zayn and Harry are going to fuck, I called it,” Niall says, taking a sip of his beer. “The moment Harry took his clothes off Zayn was standing there with them big eyes of his like, like he’s looking at a fucking steak or something. Fuckin’ hilarious, never seen anything like it. Gonna have to get the pool checked for jizz.” 

“It was… surprising to say the least. As far as I know Zayn’s got a girlfriend,” Liam frowns, pulling at his chin. “Are either of them… you know…?” 

Niall shrugs. “Does it matter? They are for each other, that’s for damn sure. This is gonna be crazy. Things are about to get dramatic as fuck on _Ibiza Shore_. Keep watchin’.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

Everyone eventually joins Zayn and Harry in the pool. Harry’s still naked and Zayn’s just in his boxers now, wet clothes thrown on the side, the others wearing proper trunks. Louis finds a net and beach ball and they end up playing a drunk game of volley ball until it’s dark out. 

Harry’s so drunk by the end of it that Zayn’s got to help him out of the pool, laughing as Harry shakes his hair out, splashing droplets all over Zayn’s face. They end up squeezed onto a deck chair, Harry’s leg thrown over Zayn’s hip and their ankles locked together. Zayn doesn’t know when he became comfortable enough with Harry to not even mind that he’s naked and all over him, the both of them cuddled up beneath a big towel, everyone else gone inside. 

“I’m going to feel like shit tomorrow,” Harry murmurs. “My head’s already beginning to hurt.” 

Zayn kisses the top of his head. “Just drink a lot of water before you go to bed, someone might’ve had the foresight to bring Panadol or something.” 

“Don’t know why I drank so much, really only takes me like four drinks, if I’m honest,” Harry sighs. “Think I just wanted to look cool. Everyone must think I’m a complete knob.” 

“Nah, babe, you’re good, I promise. I think everyone likes you.” 

“I like that.” 

“Hm?” 

“Like when you call me ‘babe’.” 

Zayn swallows, feeling hot all over. “I call everyone ‘babe’, weird habit,” he tries to laugh it off. 

But Harry’s not having it, sinks his teeth into Zayn’s collarbone just enough for it to sting. “Don’t call anyone else ‘babe’ in front of me or I’ll bite you.” 

“Is that so?” Zayn asks. 

Harry looks up at him and it’s Zayn now, who can’t stop looking at his lips. So he goes for it, presses their mouths together. Harry immediately opens up, lets Zayn slide his tongue in, letting out a heavy sigh as he sucks on it, teasing with his own. Harry’s a good kisser, not too wet, lets Zayn pick the pace and just goes with it and his lips are full and soft. 

Zayn thinks he could do this all day, snog Harry until they’re out of breath. His hand slips down Harry’s back, feeling the endless expanse of smooth skin until he’s cupping his arse, squeezing and giving it a light smack that makes Harry gasp and laugh into his mouth. 

“I really wanna fuck you,” Zayn admits. He doesn’t know why he says it, supposes he’s drank enough to make him unnecessarily honest. 

“Yeah?” Harry’s hand’s on his cock, gripping him through his boxers where they’re still damp and clinging. 

“I can’t, though.” 

“Why? Because of the other lads?” 

“I’ve got a girlfriend.” 

“Do you love her?” 

“I think I do.” 

“Okay,” Harry says, and Zayn can tell the moment’s over. “I think I’m going to be sick. I’m gonna go inside now.” 

“Okay.” 

Zayn wants to kick himself in the teeth as Harry pulls away even though he knows he’s done the right thing for the first time in his life. Neither of them says anything more as Zayn watches Harry pick his clothes up off the ground, holding them over his dick like everyone’s not already seen it from very possible angle. 

Louis’ coming out just as Harry’s going in. He’s got a fag tucked behind his ear and the pack in his hand. They’re Marlboros. Zayn’s already itching to steal one off him, his own pack still in his luggage upstairs. Louis and Harry chat for a second on the patio, Louis patting Harry on the back and then coming over to sit with Zayn. 

“Want one?” he asks, tapping a cig out which Zayn immediately takes. 

“Thanks.” 

They’re quiet as they light up and take the first few drags, but Louis’ got something on his mind and Zayn doesn’t have to wait long for him to spill whatever he’s thinking. 

“You fancy Harry or something?” 

“No,” Zayn lies through his teeth. “I’m just drunk, mate.” 

“Is that excuse going to be enough for your girlfriend? Or do you two have an open thing?” 

“I haven’t done anything.” 

“Not yet. It’s only the first night and you’re already getting yourself into trouble. You know how this is going to look when it airs.” 

Zayn tries to blow smoke rings but it’s too windy out; the rings dissipate in the air before they even form. “We had a lot to drink, Louis, especially Harry since we played that joke on him. It won’t happen again.” 

“I’m just looking out for you, mate. You’ve got to keep your head on. I know we’re all here to have fun, but you want something to go back home to, alright?” 

Zayn sighs, feeling annoyed at both Louis and himself. It’s good to know Louis’ got his back, though, will keep him from making mistakes. So he pulls Louis in for a hug, ruffling his hair until Louis tells him to fuck off.  
“How’s the prankster of the house so mature all of a sudden?”

Louis laughs. “It happens sometimes.” 

There are two boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter when Zayn goes back inside, Niall helping himself to two slices. “There’s practically no food in this house, got Paul to get us pizza. We need to go shopping tomorrow.” 

Zayn gets a plate. “You seen Harry recently?”

He doesn’t appreciate the look Niall’s giving him. “Just held his hair while he threw up, actually. Had to put him to bed. Gotta give him credit, though, he did better than I would with that prank. Legend.” 

“I feel kind of horrible about that, honestly,” Zayn says, taking a bite of his pizza. “D’you reckon we should tell him?” 

“Nah,” Niall says. “It’s all in good fun.” 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL AND HARRY~**

 

“I’ve never been in the confession room before, it’s ace,” Harry says groggily. His hair’s pulled off his face in a ridiculous little ponytail, the sides loose and curly. He looks tired, still naked and clutching the towel around his shoulders. 

“Harry just threw up. Thought he should make an appearance here before he passes out for the night,” Niall says. “Anything you want to share with the audience, Harry?” 

“I have four nipples,” Harry says, spreading his arms out, the towel falling off his shoulders. 

“Oh yeah, I see them,” Niall pokes the one nearest him and Harry folds his arms protectively, shying away. 

“Heyyyy, they’re mine. Don’t do that.” 

“Are they sensitive?” 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Niall fans himself. “The sexual tension’s escalating.” 

“Think I’m going to be sick again,” Harry says mournfully. 

“That’s just the feeling of all four of your nipples getting hard at the same time.”

Harry makes a face. 

“I tend to have that effect on people,” Niall continues. 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

Zayn takes a long shower, happy to get the smell of chlorine off his skin. The steam room’s incredible, big enough for all five of them, really. Zayn doesn’t let himself think about how he wishes he hadn’t bollocksed thinks up with Harry, how fun it would’ve been to press him up against the glass walls and leave handprints through the steam, laugh at the shape Harry’s arse makes on it. He could imagine Harry saying something stupid about how it looks like a peach or something. 

He just tries not to think of anything at all whilst he’s sat on the bench, keeps his mind blank as he focuses on how warm and relaxed he feels, steam and water washing over him. The settings on the showerhead get all the knots out of his shoulders that he hadn’t even been aware of. He can’t help but hear his mother’s voice in his head telling him he needs to learn to stop bottling things up. 

He’s loose and relaxed as he slips into a pair of trackies and heads to the phone room to call Christina, already knowing his good mood’s most likely about to come to an abrupt end once she answers the phone. 

He’s right. 

“Thanks for calling me to let me know you got in safely, really appreciated that,” she says instead of ‘hello’. 

Zayn sighs, slumping in the ridiculous leather beanbag chair. “I got distracted hanging with the lads. I’m calling now because this is the first chance I had.” 

“Did you go out?” 

“I’m calling you at 11pm here, do you think I went out?” 

“I don’t know, Zayn, you’re in Ibiza. There’s always something going on there no matter what time of the day it is.” 

“Even if I’d gone out, so what? I’m going to be doing that here,” Zayn snaps. He knows he’s given her reasons to be like this, to doubt him, and he hates that she’s right, that it’d break her to know he’s been here less than a day and he’s already kissed someone he lives with, but he hates this. He hates that half their conversations are like this and the other half are the amazing kind where they lie on the mattress Christina’s moved to the living room floor so they can look up at the skylight in the flat her parents are paying for whilst she pursues her music career in London, talking about hopes and dreams and fears and future tattoos. Zayn can’t count how many times she’s made him laugh, held him after a particularly tiring day or they sang together whilst she strummed along on her guitar. Of how many times she’s ridden his cock better than anyone else has, laughing whenever she wakes up to find his hand on her tits, thumbing her new nipple piercings. 

It’s either really good or it’s really bad and neither of them can seem to stay away from each other. 

“I know that, that’s why I didn’t want you to go,” she says softly. Zayn feels like shit. “I know we’re going to be over by the end of this.” 

“No we’re not,” Zayn says even though he feels like she’s right. 

“Okay,” she says. Zayn can hear her sniffling like she’s trying to hold herself together. “What are you doing tomorrow then?” 

“Don’t know yet. Everyone got really drunk tonight, haven’t made any plans.” 

She laughs, sounding more like herself. Zayn smiles. They’re fucked up. “Do you get on with everyone then?” 

“So far, yeah. There’s this one bloke from Doncaster, Louis, I think you’d like him a lot. He’s the kind of person you feel like you’ve known your whole life even if you just met. Same for Liam. We’re just like, really similar it’s crazy. Then there’s Niall who’s just the kind of person it’s impossible to hate. Irish, really funny.“

“What about the other one? There are five of you, right?” 

Zayn runs a hand through his hair. He’s not ready to talk to Christina about Harry. “Harry’s cool. Really outgoing, you two are probably into the same sort of music with the way he dresses.” 

“Yeah? Where’s he from?” 

“Cheshire, but I think he’s mostly in Manchester now. Little hipster.” 

“That’s good, was worried you’d be put with a bunch of knobs.” 

Zayn laughs. He’s surprised by how much he misses her. “I’m gonna go now. Spent all evening in the pool, I’m exhausted.” 

Christina snorts. “You? In the pool? Did they teach you how to swim or something?” 

“Fuck off, it’s got a shallow end,” Zayn says, smiling in spite of everything. “We played volley ball. Not really sure who won.” 

“Alright, babe. I’ll let you get to bed then. I love you.” 

“Love you, too. Good night.” 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN~**

 

“I honestly haven’t been as good a boyfriend as I could be to Christina.” 

“We’ve been together almost a year now, and I’ve cheated on her a few times. She doesn’t really trust me because of it, and I understand that even though I’ve been trying. Well, up until today,” he says, shaking his head. 

“I think I just need to watch myself around Harry. Like, yeah I’m attracted to him but I don’t even know him, really. It’d be stupid to throw everything away because I think he’s fit.” 

“Things definitely went too far today. Hopefully he won’t remember,” Zayn laughs, scratching at his stubble as he remembers Harry ranting about that fucking spinach pie. “He _was_ pretty pissed.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

When Zayn wakes up, both Liam and Louis’ beds are empty. 

He ventures downstairs, desperately in need of a tall mug of black coffee and a cigarette. Everyone is in the kitchen, unpacking grocery bags and putting things in the fridge and cupboards. 

“Sleeping beauty’s awake!” Louis says once he notices Zayn. “You sleep like the dead. We were trying to wake you up.” 

“Hate shopping, so I’m alright with that,” Zayn grins. 

“Yeah, well just don’t eat my chicken nuggets,” Niall says with a glare that Zayn doesn’t think is entirely a joke. Zayn glares back. 

“Don’t be selfish, Nialler,” Liam says, checking Niall with his shoulder as he opens a pack of crisps which Harry manages to get his hand into first. Harry looks unfairly good for someone who had to be put to bed early. He’s wearing a headband and a Rolling Stones shirt that’s got the sleeves cut off and ridiculous jeans shorts that make his legs look unfairly good. His skins browned some from his nude frolicking yesterday and Zayn decides to pointedly ignore him or he’ll be fucking up again the minute he gets alcohol in him. 

“What are we doing today?” he asks Louis. 

“Glad you asked, Zayn!” Louis says in his best T4 presenter voice. “There’s an all day beach party happening nearby, and we’re going!” 

Zayn frowns. “What kind of music is it?” 

“House, I think,” Harry answers. “Should be good, though. I mean, it’s an Ibiza beach party.” 

Zayn makes a noncommittal noise, heading out on to the patio to have his morning smoke and ignoring the big, sad puppy dog eyes Harry’s making at his back. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: HARRY~**

“I think Zayn’s upset with me, but I’m not sure what I’ve done,” Harry says, tugging nervously at his bottom lip. 

“I don’t really remember much from last night, but we’ve all been getting on this morning, so I don’t know why Zayn’s got like, an attitude towards me. I’m probably overthinking it, but I quite like Zayn and I want us to get along.” 

“Or at least be drunk snogging buddies. He’s a great kisser.”

**~END OF CONFESSION~**


	3. TROUBLE IN PARADISE

\--  
 **EPISODE 2: TROUBLE IN PARADISE**  
\--

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LIAM~**

 

“I’m so excited about this beach party, you have no idea, like this is what we came here for. It’s going to be sick. I just hope Harry doesn’t end up naked again, not sure it’s that kind of beach.” 

“We’re taking the limo and the show’s booked us a booth, so I’m hoping girls will think we’re celebrities and come over and talk to us,” he slides his aviators on, pouting at the camera. “I’ve been told I look a bit like David Beckham.” 

“But I really do hope I meet a fit girl. I need to get back into the game.”

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

There are two Range Rovers parked in front of the house that Zayn swears weren’t there yesterday. One’s black and the other’s sort of grey, the windows tinted dark. They make Zayn think of the new James Bond films with Daniel Craig, how Zayn and his dad always argue whenever Zayn puts ‘Casino Royale’ on because his dad doesn’t think James Bond should ever be driving a ‘bloody Chelsea tractor’, should always be in sleek little sports cars because that’s really what it’s all about. 

Zayn sees his point, but Zayn’s never been much of a purist. He loves when his favourite rappers get added to remixes and he loves remakes where the entire budget’s spent on insane graphics and more realistic blood spatters. He always tells his dad that when he starts grumbling about Blond Bond, that it’s still a quality film and the old ones will always be there. But then his dad will raise his eyebrow and ask if Zayn would say that if they remade ‘The Godfather’. 

It always strikes a nerve because just the thought of that makes Zayn want to flare up and ask where they’d find a better cast; there’s really no way to improve it. He tries to keep it in, though, mumbles about how he’d be fine with that even though his dad can see right through it, laughing and ruffling his hair. 

Zayn’s suddenly homesick, missing his dad’s banter and his mum’s chicken and his sisters yelling upstairs, driving each other mad, his cousins bringing over video games and pirated DVDs. He’d been in London with Christina all week, hadn’t gone home before taking off. He’s not used to being away from his family for so long. 

“You alright?” Harry asks, seeming to notice the way Zayn’s shoulders have slumped. Zayn’s already discerned that Harry’s the kind of person who quietly observes, just stares at everyone, watches people, can listen without saying much back. Zayn doesn’t think much gets past those big, green eyes. 

Zayn also doesn’t want to feel butterflies in his stomach with the way Harry’s looking at him, so genuinely concerned, fingers tentatively curling around Zayn’s wrist. This isn’t part of Zayn’s Ignore-And-Definitely-Do-Not-Shag-Harry plan. 

So Zayn nods, keeps walking so that his wrist slips out of Harry’s grasp. “Yeah, I’m good. Just hadn’t noticed the cars before.”

“They brought them out this morning,” Harry says, looking visibly relieved at the fact that Zayn’s said more than two words to him. “We took one out when we did the shopping earlier. I drove. My dad drives a Range Rover, so I’m used to them.”

Of course Harry’s dad would drive a ‘bloody Chelsea tractor’. Zayn couldn’t be any less like Harry if he tried. 

“Oi, wait up,” Zayn calls out to Louis, suddenly jogging towards him. Louis smiles, eyes crinkling as he throws an arm around Zayn’s neck. 

Zayn can practically feel Harry’s frown burning into the back of his head, feel the deep crease between his eyebrows that Zayn wants to smooth out with his thumb, kiss his forehead so it’ll make his dimples pop instead. Zayn chances a look back and immediately regrets it because Harry looks sadder than he really should be and it makes Zayn like shit. 

But it doesn’t stop Zayn from making sure he’s sat between Niall and Louis in the limo. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: HARRY~**

 

“I really don’t know what I’ve done to Zayn. He’s giving me the iciest cold shoulder in the world right now,” Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m trying not to let it affect me, because we’re here to have fun and I don’t want to create tension—everyone would notice, you know? It’d throw all of us off and I don’t want to ruin everyone’s day. But I guess… I guess I do feel sad about it. I thought we were getting on. Like I don’t know if he’s upset about what happened last night, but he’s the one who kissed me so…?” 

Harry shrugs a shoulder, forcing a small smile. “I’m just gonna try to have a good time. Hopefully Zayn does, too and we can get over this.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

Zayn can hear the music before they’re even at the venue. It’s loud, rattles the windows the closer they get. It’s house and that’s the one genre Zayn’s honestly never been much of a fan of. Zayn’s alright with a couple songs coming on when he’s at a club or standing in the queue with Christina at American Apparel, but he isn’t sure he can do this all day. 

The other lads obviously aren’t feeling the same, though; they’re buzzing with excitement, anxiously jostling their knees and going on about how they can’t wait to get out. Zayn hopes whatever they’re feeling rubs off on him, because he knows himself and if there’s one thing Zayn is good at doing, it’s making up transparent excuses and leaving when he isn’t feeling something, and he doesn’t want to start off his time here being like that, being mardy and leaving parties early. 

His mum’s always said he’s got a sulk visible from the moon. 

The party is at a hotel with a bar that stretches far along the shoreline. There are girls in bikinis dancing everywhere, guys with their shirts off, the entire beach is just _packed_ with people drinking and dancing and chatting. There’s a big swimming pool even though the ocean’s right there, the tiles of it reflecting in the water and making it look just as blue, a few models hired for the event floating on inflatable loungers that match their swimsuits. 

A fit blonde in a little black dress comes up to them, kicking up sand with her heels, her accent thick when she introduces herself. “Hola! I’m Ana and I’ll be your hostess for the day. I’ll take you to your booth?” 

Zayn doesn’t miss the looks that Niall and Harry exchange, watching Anna’s arse as she turns around. 

“I’ve got a good feeling about today, boys,” Liam says, pushing his sunglasses up when a topless shot girl walks by, tits covered with red and white body paint. Zayn can’t stop himself from looking either. 

Their booth is right at the edge of the pool, a round white table with a bench that curves around it and big yellow umbrella that matches all the other yellow umbrellas Zayn can see. Ana leaves them a menu and Liam immediately orders the most expensive champagne without even looking. 

They’re barely settled in before Harry pulls his shirt off over his head, which makes Louis shield his eyes and yell, “Not again!” and makes everyone laugh. 

“I’m not taking all my clothes off, come on, fellas,” Harry shakes his head, an exasperated smile on his face as he shimmies out of his shorts, revealing fluorescent yellow trunks that cling to his arse and show off entirely too much thigh. 

“Christ, where’d you even get those? Hurting my bloody eyes,” Niall laughs, slapping Harry’s bum. “Someone’s looking to pull tonight.”

“Aren’t we all?” Harry says, tilting his head to a group of girls that walk past, long legs and bare shoulders practically glistening in the sun. 

“Zayn and I are most certainly not. We’re spoken for,” Louis says, squeezing Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn nods, purposefully not looking at Harry. 

He notices Harry’s purposefully not looking at him, either. 

Well, that’s how it’ll be today then. 

Good. Fine. He doesn’t care. 

Harry flirts outrageously with Ana when she returns with the champagne, asks her how to say ‘what’s up, beautiful?’ in Spanish and then repeats it to her with a cheeky grin that makes him look like a precocious eight year old with a voice like honeyed whisky. 

Zayn tells himself he’s not jealous when he notices her touching Harry’s arm unnecessarily, manicured fingers lingering as she giggles at his jokes that aren’t even that funny. 

“Our Harry’s a little ladies’ man,” Liam laughs, popping the champagne open as soon as Ana’s gone. 

“I can be your wingman, if you’d like,” Harry says, holding his glass out. 

“You’d have better luck with me as your wingman,” Niall interjects. “Women can’t resist this Irish charm or these rippling muscles.” 

“I don’t think Liam’s lacking muscle, mate,” Harry says, reaching over to squeeze Liam’s bicep. Liam flexes, making a ridiculous face. Harry looks Liam up and down. “Anyone ever tell you you look like David Beckham?” 

“Actually—“ 

“Be careful there, Liam. I think you’re actually pulling Harry now; how quickly the student surpasses the master,” Louis laughs.

Zayn feels like the only one who’s not having fun at this point. He doesn’t like when Harry ignores him back and he doesn’t like how Harry’s suddenly flirting with everyone but him. Zayn knows he’s not making any sense right now, that he sounds selfish and ridiculous and he hasn’t got any right to be jealous over anything Harry does. 

So he asks for a JD and Coke as soon as Ana pops back in and then throws in tequila shots for good measure that everyone else gets in on, too. 

None of them are sober by the time they hit the dance floor, the topless shot girl that’d taken a liking to Liam makes sure of that. Niall’s cheeks are red with the beginnings of sunburn and alcohol, his shoulders already pinking up around the straps of his vest. He’s going to be a mess tomorrow and he couldn’t be any happier about it.

Zayn’s in a better mood, too now that he’s drunk enough to think the music is fun to dance to; he and Louis are making up moves that look more like karate than anything else, but it’s fun and the vibes are so good that no one who’s noticed has done anything but turn and laugh and then show their friends. 

Liam and Harry have been gone ages now, broken off from the rest of them. They’ve taken that wingman thing more seriously than Zayn thought they would when Liam’d started talking about how he wasn’t sure if he was over his ex, Danielle whilst they were still at the booth. Harry’d been appalled that Liam hadn’t been with anyone since, kept slurring on about how he needs to fuck her out of his system, let loose and ‘fucking get in’ so that he feels better and realises it’s not the end of the world. 

Zayn guesses it’s Harry’s drunk way of saying ‘there’s plenty of fish in the sea.’ Zayn doesn’t know how he’ll deal with Harry for the rest of his stay here if Harry’s going to take his own advice, bring a different person home every night because he doesn’t _need_ Zayn. After all, it was just one night and now Zayn’s gone and acted like a prick and fucked everything up. 

What’d Harry expect anyway? Zayn’s got a girlfriend. 

A girlfriend that he’s not even thinking about because he can’t stop thinking about Harry, can’t stop wondering if Harry’s getting off with someone else right now, pressed against some girl in the crowd, dragging his fingers across the tan lines on her hip. 

“You alright?” Louis asks, and Zayn remembers Harry asking him the same thing earlier. He wishes he were better at keeping his emotions off his face, especially when he’s had a lot to drink. He always gets a not entirely undeserved reputation for being ‘the moody one’, and when he’s actually in a mood he doesn’t like when people keep prodding at him trying to figure out what’s wrong, makes him feel like they think he wants attention. 

But he nods, flashes a smile that quickly falls off his face. 

Louis doesn’t look convinced. “Is this about Harry? You two’ve been avoiding each other all day. Don’t give me that look, you two went from being all over each other last night to not even meeting each other’s eyes today.” 

Zayn’s saved from answering when Niall suddenly jumps on his back, screaming about how much he loves the song that’s just come on. 

Zayn loves Niall, he really does. He and Louis forget all about Harry and Zayn drinks and dances until his shirt is soaked with sweat and stained with a shot that didn’t quite make it all the way to his mouth. 

Niall pulls them up to the front near the DJ, gets one of the shot girls to get up there and request a shout-out to the _Ibiza Shore_ cast. Everyone in the crowd cheers for them and Zayn’s good. In that moment, Zayn thinks everything will be good, too. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LOUIS~**

 

“Something tells me that Zayn and Harry aren’t done with each other quite yet,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Zayn will stare at Harry when Harry isn’t looking and Harry’ll do the same, it’s honestly the stupidest thing. They’re acting like they’re still in secondary school.” 

“I’m not sure what Zayn really wants anymore, and I guess that’ll be what he has to figure out here. I know he’s mentioned that he and his girlfriend are pretty on and off, but if he messes up here, there’s no way she’ll take him back, it’ll be on telly for everyone to see. I just don’t want him to get hurt, he’s a good lad.” 

“Harold’s all over the place, too. I think he’s trying to make Zayn jealous or something,” Louis shakes his head again, rolling his eyes. “I really hope they sort this out soon. I don’t want to spend the entire time here getting caught in their bullshit. They think they’re being subtle about it, but it’s just driving me mad watching them act like this.”

“But enough about them, let’s talk about me. I really, really, really miss my girlfriend right now. I’m so fucking horny I think I’m going to die.” He laughs, licking his lips. “I can’t believe I just said that on national television. I’m sorry, babe, I just miss you a lot. And also miss fucking you a lot.” 

Louis shrugs. “I’m a blunt guy, what can I say?” 

“Can we have phone sex in the phone room? Like is that alright? Do they still film if we’re wanking?” 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

The sun has started to set when Liam and Harry finally come wandering back to the booth, looking the same as everyone else; tan and exhausted. Zayn wonders if they feel as wrung out as he does; he’s not a big partier and he’s certainly never gone all day in the sun like this. He feels like he could curl up and sleep until it’s a new year. His skin’s browner than it has been in ages, mouth so dry that he’s been sipping water for the past ten minutes and he still feels thirsty. His bottom lip is chapped when he runs his tongue over it. 

Even Niall’s quieter, yawning big. 

Liam’s got his arm around some girl’s shoulders, introduces her to everyone as ‘Sophia’. She’s English, got long hair and full lips. The two (TWO. Not even bloody one, but TWO) girls with Harry are English, as well, uni students who saved up for a holiday. The one on his left is Bonnie, dark hair that’s pulled up in a bun, freckles sprinkled over her nose and the longest legs Zayn thinks he’s ever seen, and Nicole, a mixed girl with big frizzy curls and hazel eyes that remind Zayn of his own—the kind where the green only stands out when you look properly or the when the light hits it just right, makes people look twice because they’ve never noticed before. She’s also got big tits that are struggling to stay in her top. 

Zayn hates himself for being unable to look away, gets chatting with her in the limo. He learns her mum’s from Trinidad and her dad’s English, that he can hear the Trinidadian lilt if he listens close enough. She’s a good distraction from Harry’s hand on Bonnie’s thigh, the way Harry’s leaning in close to whisper into her ear. 

Louis looks completely done with the lot of them, rolling his eyes when Bonnie giggles too loudly, her elbow pressing into Louis’ side as she runs her fingers through Harry’s curls. 

Niall’s fallen asleep with his mouth open. 

Louis heads straight for the phone room when they get back to the house, Liam linking his fingers with Sophia’s as he takes her upstairs, and Niall resumes his nap on the couch, too knackered to even take off his snapback, just turns it to the back and rolls onto his side.  
Zayn doesn’t know what he’s doing, Nicole’s hand in his as they follow Harry and Bonnie into the backyard. Harry leads them all to the little alcove by the pool that’s got the two deck chairs tucked away, pulling Bonnie down onto his lap. 

“So what are we doing then?” Nicole asks, folding her arms across her chest. 

“We could go skinny dipping,” Harry suggests, that big lopsided grin too charming for his own good. 

“It’s not that easy to get us out of our clothes,” Bonnie says, and Nicole laughs, leans over to give her a high-five. 

“We’ll take ours off if you do,” Harry says, and Zayn realises Harry’s looking at him. It’s the first time Harry’s talked to him in hours. 

Zayn doesn’t know what to say. 

Bonnie talks again before he does. “If you guys kiss each other, we’ll take our tops off.” 

Zayn’s eyes widen, but Harry just smirks. “If we kiss each other shirtless, you’ve got to kiss each other topless, then. It’s only fair.” 

“Nice try,” Nicole says, rolling her eyes. 

“Worth a shot,” Harry laughs. 

Bonnie gets up and goes over to Nicole, sliding an arm around her waist. “Well, what are you two waiting for?” 

Harry shrugs. Zayn watches him walk over, leaning back a bit as Harry straddles his lap. He smells like the beach and alcohol and a little bit like sweat. 

“Are you still mad at me?” Harry asks quietly. 

“Wasn’t mad at you,” Zayn says. 

“Then why weren’t you talking to me?” Harry curves his fingers around the back of Zayn’s neck. 

“Still waiting,” Nicole singsongs. 

Zayn shrugs. “Because you’re just going to get me into trouble. I shouldn’t even be out here right now.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I know that,” Zayn says, his hand on the small of Harry’s back.

“You’re out here for Nicole then?” Harry frowns. Zayn gets a thrill off how _jealous_ Harry sounds, glad he’s not the only one who feels that way. 

“Well?” Harry prods, his hold on Zayn’s neck tightening. 

“Are you going to fuck Bonnie?” Zayn asks back.

Harry looks frustrated now, eyes bright. Zayn wants him more than he thinks he’s wanted anything. 

Zayn leans in, their faces so close that the tips of their noses are almost touching. “Are you going to fucking kiss me or not?” 

It’s not like their first kiss. It’s desperate, pure electricity. Harry’s not passive this time, his kiss a hard mess of tongue and teeth as he grinds down onto Zayn’s cock. It feels like he’s got something to prove and Zayn feels drunk off it, grabs at Harry’s arse and pulls him in impossibly closer, leaves his hand there because he can. Zayn’s sure Harry’s nails have left marks in his neck by the time they’re done, Harry’s mouth red and puffy and his eyes wild. 

“Wow.” 

They both turn to look at Nicole and Bonnie, startled. Zayn’d honestly forgot about them from the moment Harry’s lips touched his, and from the look on Harry’s face, he did, as well. 

Harry licks his lips, running a hand through his hair as he stumbles out of Zayn’s lap. “Your turn, then?” he says with an awkward smile.

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NICOLE AND BONNIE~**

 

“I’m a bit heartbroken, because I thought Zayn was really, really fit and I fancied him, but I think he and Harry have a bit more between them than they’re letting on. I don’t really want to get into that,” Nicole says, adjusting her top. 

Bonnie nods, laughing disbelievingly. “The way they kissed each other was _so_ intense. It was really hot, but we couldn’t compete with that. Ours was like so lame by comparison. I only like Nicole as a friend, you know.” 

Nicole pretends to be shocked, clutching her chest. “You absolute bitch, I thought we were in love.” 

“Unbelievable,” Bonnie shakes her head. “D’you see what I have to deal with?” 

Nicole continues, “We still hung out with them for a little while, because, you know, they’re really cute and the pool is quite nice, but after the kiss I think we both kind of had this silent agreement like, yeah, not gonna go there.” 

“We were about to leave and go back to our hotel when we walked through the living room and the blond guy had just got up—” 

“He’s a lot hotter when he’s not asleep with his mouth open,” Nicole says.

“A lot hotter,” Bonnie agrees. “So Harry and Zayn were seeing us out, but Niall invited us to do shots and we asked if it was alright if we hung out with Niall and they didn’t have a problem with it and went back outside anyway, so it’s just us and Niall, and…” 

“Surprise! We had a threesome!” Nicole laughs. “God we must look like such sluts.” 

“Sorry Mum!” Bonnie hides her face from the camera. 

Nicole pats her back. “D’you think Niall would be up for another go?” 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

“Fuck,” Zayn moans, hands tangled in Harry’s hair. 

They’re back at the pool; Zayn sprawled on a deck chair with Harry between his legs, their clothes thrown onto the ground. Harry’s head is bobbing up and down between Zayn’s legs, mouth wet and warm as Zayn fucks into it, lets Zayn grip his hair and use it like move him about. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, it really wasn’t, but Zayn knew they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other if they snuck off alone and he still did it anyway, let Harry push him onto the chair and climb on top of him, kiss him again, slower this time. 

Zayn’s quickly learning it’s impossible to not want Harry. 

His breath catches in his throat when Harry slides a finger behind his balls, rubbing against his arsehole as he takes Zayn all the way in his throat. It’s been a long time since Zayn’s been with someone who can do that, deepthroat, and Zayn’s so close he can feel already feel it in his bones.  
Harry looks up at him, eyes wet and hair falling across his forehead. He’s got the perfect face for this, that mouth and the pretty pink his skin gets when he blushes, sleepy eyes practically begging Zayn to let him know how he’s doing. Zayn thinks watching Harry do this is better than any porn he’s ever watched. 

Harry presses his finger in deeper, making Zayn swear and spread his thighs wider. 

“Want me to swallow?” Harry asks, letting Zayn slip from between his lips so he can give him a few slow tugs.

All Zayn can do is nod fervently. Everything’s too much right now and Zayn wants fuck the smug grin right off Harry’s face when Harry starts fucking him harder on his finger and Zayn lets out something close to a whimper. So he does just that, yanks Harry back down by the hair and hitches his hips so Harry’s swallowing him down to the root. Harry lets out a moan deep in his throat, and Zayn swears he can feel it vibrate down his cock, makes him clench down on Harry’s finger as he comes.

Zayn doesn’t wait for either of them to catch their breath before he flips them so that he’s on top, spitting into his hand and jerking Harry off, a nipple caught between his teeth and Harry using his own hand to pull at the other. He moans Zayn’s name when he comes, so loud that Zayn feels everyone in the world must’ve heard him. 

They get into the shower together, but they’re too tired to do anything but wash each other’s hair and kiss, Zayn sucking a bruise onto Harry’s neck because he can, holding him against the glass door just like he’s thought about. 

“Bonnie’s sleeping in my bed, can I sleep with you?” Harry asks whilst Zayn’s on the balcony outside his room, having a cigarette before bed.

“They’re still here?” 

Harry nods. “Nicole’s in bed with Niall. Smells like pussy in there, if I’m honest. I reckon Niall’s got with both of them.”

Zayn laughs, flicking his cigarette into the darkness. “Fucking Niall.”

Harry smiles. “Guess he wasn’t lying about that Irish charm.” 

"Guess not," Zayn says, stretching. "You ready for bed?" 

Harry nods and Zayn pulls him onto the daybed on the balcony, closing the canopy and curling up against him. 

He falls asleep with his face pressed into Harry’s neck.

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN~**

 

“So I guess I’ve just properly cheated on my girlfriend, then.” 

He lets out a deep breath. “Fuck.”

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**


	4. THE MORNING AFTER

\--  
 **EPISODE 3: THE MORNING AFTER**  
\--

 

It takes a lot to get Zayn up and out of bed at a reasonable hour, but he suddenly finds himself in that weird place between sleep and wake, can tell it’s early from how wrong it feels, how he’s still so tired he just wants to roll over and bury his face in his pillow. It’s like everything’s been twisted up and turned inside out. It also feels like someone’s watching him, the weight of a stare heavy on his back.

It puts him on edge, makes it impossible to sleep. 

He twists onto his other side, opens his eyes with a start. He starts remembering everything when he sees Harry beside him, half-sitting up and staring at Zayn like Zayn’s an expensive painting he’s thinking of buying. 

They’re still on the daybed, bright morning sun shining through the white canopy, shadows from swaying branches coming through and falling across Harry’s skin. It makes Zayn squint. 

Harry looks too happy for someone who should be nursing a terrible hangover, nose all red from dancing in the sun for hours and a crooked, little smile that makes his dimples show. 

“The fuck are you staring at?” Zayn murmurs, voice deep from sleep and too many Marlboros. 

“You,” Harry predictably replies, thumbing Zayn’s cheekbone. “You’ve even gorgeous when you sleep, that sharp jawline and the best eyebrows I’ve ever seen.” 

“And you snore,” Zayn says, laughing when Harry pouts his bottom lip out and leans in to bite his shoulder. “Oi, it’s too early for this.” Zayn grips his side and Harry barks out a ridiculous laugh, makes him sound like a wounded animal. 

Zayn doesn’t even understand where he’s finding this energy from at this hour, especially after an entire day of partying, but he’s having a proper go at tickling Harry now, delighting in his laugh and how bad he is at wrestling out of Zayn’s grip in spite of being heavier, eyes wet from laughing so hard or squeezed shut and crinkled at the sides when it’s too much. 

It’s obvious he’s never been the type of kid to roughhouse with his mates, doesn’t know how what to do with his gangly limbs, and he’s too afraid to really get rough with Zayn, no real power behind the few hits he manages to land. Zayn reckons all his friends were girls when he was growing up, always the type of boy who’s never been uncomfortable with birds, getting on better with them than other lads who were into playing football and daring each other to eat worms. The kind of boy everyone would make fun of for being weird and soft and probably queer until puberty hit and having more girl friends than guy friends was a good thing, because then your girl friends suddenly have tits and kiss you at parties and everything changes. 

Harry’s even more ticklish underneath his arms, and he nearly elbows Zayn in the face when he goes for the bottom of his foot. 

“Give up?” Zayn asks when Harry’s all laughed out, tears staining his flushed cheeks. 

Harry nods, breathing heavy, lip caught under his teeth like he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or try to escape the way Zayn’s got his wrists pinned above his head. Zayn’s suddenly aware of the fact that they’re both in nothing but their pants—Harry’s tight black Calvin Klein’s that ride up his thighs and grip his half-hard cock and Zayn’s are Power Rangers ones that his mum got him for a laugh but he actually really fucking likes. 

And he’s hard, too, cock pressing into Harry’s hip. 

Suddenly it’s not funny anymore. Neither of them is laughing now, just watching each other watch back and waiting to see who’ll make the first move. There’s always this tension between them, gets stronger whenever they’re alone and quiet for too long. They’ve got this pull on each other and Zayn can’t decide if that’s a normal, healthy thing when you’ve only known someone for a couple days. 

Harry’s hands are warm when they cup Zayn’s face, fingers so long Zayn wonders if they span all the way to his hairline, but he loses his train of thought when Harry pulls him down, sucking on Zayn’s bottom lip. 

Zayn doesn’t even know when he’d let go of Harry’s wrists, but he’s glad he did when he feels Harry pushing his pants down his hips, reaching between his legs and curling his fingers around Zayn’s cock, tugging nice and slow. 

Zayn sighs against the corner of his mouth. “What are you gonna do with that, babe?” 

Harry licks his lips. Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever seen prettier eyes, the palest, purest green on earth, probably. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Suck it again,” Zayn grinds down between Harry’s spread thighs, his cock sliding against Harry’s. “So good with your mouth.” 

Harry lets out a moan that Zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He wants to hear it again. He wants to make it his fucking ring tone, his alarm noise, his text message alert, which says a lot since Zayn’s terrible at even keeping his phone charged. 

He grinds into Harry again, but this time he angles his hips down lower, the head of his cock nudging behind Harry’s balls, pressing in between the cleft of his arse and leaving a damp smear on the tight black. 

Harry wraps his legs around Zayn’s waist as Zayn takes hold of himself, purposefully pressing the head of his cock right against Harry’s hole, feeling him clench through his briefs. 

“Fuck, I wanna see you,” Zayn says, snapping the waistband against Harry’s hipbone and making him arch his back. 

Harry untangles his legs long enough to get naked and turn around, on his knees with his bare arse up. He’s got tan lines starting, back a pale gold and his bum milky white. But Zayn’s alright with that, quite in love actually, because Harry’s got a nice arse, small but round, just the right kind of firm when Zayn grabs a handful and spreads him open, getting a good look at the pink of his arsehole. 

Zayn has to give his own cock a squeeze. Harry’s driving him crazy. “You’re so hot,” he says, pulling Harry back by the hips so his arse is flush against Zayn, Zayn’s cock lying between his arse cheeks. 

Harry knows he looks good, likes to show himself off, so he hitches his arse up even higher, looking back at Zayn over his shoulder with a little smirk. Zayn likes the face he makes when Zayn lands a stinging slap right on the curve of his arse. 

“I’d fuck you so hard, you don’t even understand,” Zayn’s laughing even though he’s completely serious, pressing Harry’s cheeks tighter around his cock so he can thrust between them. 

“Yeah? Why don’t you then?” Harry asks, eyes challenging. 

“Don’t have anything.” 

Harry bites his lip. “Just do it, I can take it.” 

Fuck. Zayn wants to. He really wants to. He wants to fucking _wreck_ Harry on his cock. But not like this. He knows that won’t feel very good for either of them. He wants the first time he fucks Harry to be nothing but good. 

“Next time,” Zayn says. “Gonna come on your arse, though.”

And of course nothing can go quite right for Zayn for more than a few hours; there’s always something that’s got to bring him back down to earth in case he thinks he deserves a humiliation-free existence. 

Blinding sunlight pours in as the canopy’s ripped aside, Louis stood there yelling, “Time for breakfast!” at the top of his lungs until he realises what he’s looking at, and the grin slips off his face so his eyes can bulge out of his head before he mumbles an apology and tries to slide the canopy back where it was, nearly bumping into the cameraman behind him in his haste to backpedal.  
Zayn’s heart is beating in his throat as he pulls away from Harry, trying to tuck himself back into his Power Rangers boxers whilst Harry covers his cock with a pillow, cheeks bright red. 

“Just come downstairs when you’re ready,” Louis calls from inside, sounding very much like he wants to burst with laughter. 

Zayn can hear him cackling as he runs down the stairs. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LOUIS~**

“So, it looks like everyone got laid except me last night,” Louis announces, not looking particularly enthused about it. “Unless phone sex counts, then I definitely got laid.” 

“I thought it’d be great if we all had a big family breakfast where everyone cooks except me, because I’m an awful cook, but I was going to help with the tea. Maybe pour some juice….” 

“Anyway,” he pushes his fringe out of his eyes. “I go looking for Liam first, found him in the shag shack with his girl. Luckily, they were both clothed and talking, seemed up for the breakfast idea, so I think she might be a keeper.” 

“Then I went looking for Niall, and found him in his and Harry’s room fucking about on his guitar with those two girls Harry brought back. Can’t say I expected that one; I didn’t even know he pulled yesterday. Have to admit that’s a pretty impressive story, so Niall’s definitely got my respect for that one. Top lad.” 

“Was nice of him to look after them after Harry so carelessly dumped them so he could go get off with Zayn, which I saw entirely too much of just now.” 

“In retrospect, I should’ve really known better since neither of them were in their beds.”

“They’re not even done yet, it’s 10 o’clock and they’re at it again. Absolute animals.” 

“Going to have to pull my man, Zayn aside again, though. We really need to sort this out.” 

Louis sighs, looking up at the ceiling exasperatedly. “Everyone in this house is mental. Why am I the voice of reason? I’m never the voice of reason.” 

“Have I ever mentioned that phone sex is incredibly underrated? Maybe I should recommend it to Zayn, keep that pretty arse of his out of trouble.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

Breakfast is a busy affair. They’ve got five growing lads to feed, as well as three ladies. Harry’s slow and a little loopy after coming on Zayn’s face before they came down to the kitchen. He’s wearing a pair of Zayn’s trackies as he stands over the stove flipping pancakes. Liam’s beside him, in charge of the rashers and scrambled egg whilst Louis’ off to the side trying to figure out the fancy French press and Niall mans the toaster. 

Bonnie’s chatting with Sophia and Nicole is looking at Zayn with this knowing look on her face, wearing one of Niall’s ridiculous vests with the unnecessarily deep armholes. 

“So you and Harry work it out last night?” she asks in a low voice like they’re sharing a secret. 

“Who wants coffee again?” Louis asks, turning to look at everyone. 

Zayn raises his hand. So do Nicole and Bonnie and Sophia. Zayn supposes he’s officially one of the bits on the side, too, then. 

“Trying to drink less coffee these days. Only when I need a boost,” Liam says, “but I’ve already got one now.” He winks at Sophia.

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t stop smiling. 

“He looks sort of like David Beckham, doesn’t he?” Bonnie says to Sophia. “You lucky bitch.” 

“I don’t see it,” Nicole says before returning her attention to Zayn. “So, you and Harry.” 

Zayn shrugs. He and Harry really haven’t worked anything out other than the fact that they can’t seem to stop touching each other and aren’t even trying to. Zayn doesn’t know what he’s going to tell Christina the next time they talk on the phone. He’s not ready to face this when he barely even knows what it is. Harry just makes him crazy, there’s no other way to put it. This really can’t be good for him. 

Liam serves Sophia breakfast and Niall looks like a smug bastard as he puts toast on Bonnie and Nicole’s plates, wriggling his eyebrows when Nicole asks if he’ll butter hers. Zayn doesn’t even know what his life’s become anymore. 

“I made this one for you,” Harry says, sliding a plate in front of Zayn. There’s a lumpy pancake in it that looks vaguely like a heart. Zayn doesn’t want to be as endeared as he is.

“Where’s my special pancake? What the hell,” Niall complains, having a swallow of Bonnie’s coffee.

“I haven’t learnt how to make a dick shaped one yet,” Harry says back. 

Niall pouts, but he seems over it when Bonnie kisses him on the mouth.

“You guys are so cute,” Nicole says, watching Harry spray whipped cream onto Zayn’s pancake because that’s apparently what they’re substituting golden syrup with. 

Harry beams. Zayn cuts at his heart shaped pancake. 

Harry fetches Zayn’s coffee and scrapes egg onto his plate, looking ready to ask a million questions when he finds out Zayn’s Muslim after Zayn declines the rashers because they’re made of pork. 

“I’ll get turkey next time,” Harry says. 

Harry makes Zayn smile and Zayn doesn’t get it at all. Why has he gone arse over tit for someone who doesn’t even know the most basic shit about him?

Zayn can feel himself doing what he does best: getting sulky, falling into the black hole that comes in the form of his infamous daylong strops. 

He excuses himself as soon as he’s had his fill, tired of hearing everyone chatting about uni like nothing else is going on. He’s just not into it, doesn’t care about Bonnie’s ridiculous art elective or Harry thinking of switching from reading Psychology to do Physiotherapy because he’s good with his hands. It all seems frivolous right now when Zayn’s guilty conscience is about to eat him alive. 

He feels bad about putting that wounded look on Harry’s face again as Harry watches him disappear up the stairs, knowing better than to follow. He knows it’s not fair to Harry how hot and cold he is, but what does Harry expect? He knew going into this that Zayn’s got a girl back home, has seen the comic-style portrait of Christina he’s tattooed on his arm, the one that’d made his mum cry for the first time in a while at his choice in tattoos. 

He burrows under the sheet in his bed, wanting to fall asleep and hating how much he wishes Harry were spooned against him. He can hear Niall seeing Bonnie and Nicole off, promising to call them later like it’s perfectly normal to be seeing the both of them like it’s some two-for-one special. He hears Harry offering to do the washing up and Liam saying he and Sophia are going for a swim. 

He pretends to be asleep when Louis comes into the bedroom to check on him. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: HARRY~**

“I don’t want to, but… I think I might be falling for Zayn,” Harry says, sighing. 

“I always get really into people when there’s a chase, you know? Like, when I have to work for it and it’s not that easy. But I don’t think it’s that simple with Zayn this time, I mean, it’s obviously a little bit exciting that he’s in a relationship and we have this secret thing, and I do feel bad but… I don’t know. It’s just different. I’ve never felt like this before. I just can’t stop thinking about him and when I look at him my heart just pounds and pounds and pounds. Touching him makes sparks fly. Oh my god, I sound like a fifteen year old girl.” 

“He’s just so thoughtful, like he’s the sort of person who’s always thinking about something, and he’s got such big, gorgeous eyes that can look a little sad. But he’s fun, too and he always talks about his family, which is really sweet since I’m big on family, as well. And he’s smart, too, big words just slip out sometimes and it’s so hot. He’s going to be the hottest teacher ever.” 

“I don’t know what to do, because I can tell he’s really struggling with this. I don’t want to make it harder for him, but I… I really want him to choose me.” He frowns, looking down at his hands in his lap. “No one ever chooses me, though. I get what I want, but then people go back to what feels more reliable.” 

“It’s stupid to think this will be any different with the way things are going. I think I need to get over him, too, find someone else to focus on. So I’m meeting up with my friend, Ben before we go out later. He’s on business nearby and emailed me asking if I wanted to have lunch.” 

“All my friends joke about Ben being my sugar daddy because he’s older, and he likes to spoil me occasionally, but it’s not like that.” 

“It’s not! Stop looking at me like that.” He hides his face from the camera. 

“I mean we have sex sometimes, but…” 

“It’s not like that!” 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

Zayn ends up sleeping all afternoon. 

When he wakes up, he’s hungry and groggy and in desperate need of a wash because he can still smell Harry all over him. 

He tries to pull himself out of this slump, stays in the shower so long that his toes and fingers turn wrinkly in the water. He doesn’t want to go out tonight even though he already knows the others must have plans that he’s included in, because they’re in Ibiza and that’s what they’re here to do, and everyone seems to want to spend at least a quarter of the day drunk out of their minds. Alcoholics, the lot of them.

So he tidies his stubble, makes sure it’s lined up all clean with a razor and does his hair up so that it’s not just lying flat across his forehead. He looks good, doesn’t look like someone who’d rather stay in bed and not shower for a few days with a tin of weed and episodes of _Breaking Bad_ for company.

He’s thinking of what to wear tonight as he makes his way back to the bedroom, towel tied around his waist, when he sees Harry stepping out of the shag shack with a bloke Zayn doesn’t recognise, a tall, handsome, bloke who’s at least ten years older. He’s wearing a blazer and dressy dark wash jeans, Harry smiling up into his face as he buttons his shirt for him, naked with the sheets thrown on like some kind of sex toga. 

Harry looks like a baby-faced twig beside him, all wild curls and dimples, which means Zayn must look even smaller, fine-boned and wiry like his mum. He feels ten times smaller when Harry and the bloke finally notice him, wishes he’d at least had a shirt on because Harry’s with a _man_ and Zayn probably looks like a bony kid with stupid tattoos he’s bound to regret even though Harry’s got his fair share of those, too. 

“This is Ben,” Harry says quickly, smiling even though his eyes are like those of a trapped animal. He’s panicking. Zayn doesn’t know whether it’s over him seeing Ben or Ben seeing him, but he’s glad. Fuck Harry. 

“Ben, this is my flatmate, Zayn.” 

It stings to hear Harry reducing him to ‘flatmate’. He’d have settled for friend. But he pastes on a smile, shakes Ben’s hand. 

“Harry’s mentioned you. Great to finally meet you,” Ben says with a smile. He really is handsome in that mature, fully grown-up way, his voice surprisingly gentle. 

Zayn can’t find it in him to be as nasty as he wants, but he still spits, “That’s funny, can’t say the same.” 

“Ben’s a friend from back home. He’s here on business,” Harry says, pulling the sheets tighter around himself. “He’s a photographer.” 

Zayn doesn’t know how it’s possible to want to kiss Harry when he also wants to punch him in the mouth. He’s so angry and jealous and _hurt_ that he doesn’t know how he’s not shaking because it feels like he’s barely holding himself together. A few hours ago he’d woken up in bed with Harry and now it’s like this, Harry in bed with someone else as the sun sets. 

“Business include fucking you then? Lucky you,” Zayn says, shoving past. 

Harry doesn’t try to stop him. 

“Wow. What’s that all about?” he hears Ben ask. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL~**

“Did I not tell all of ya that Zayn and Harry were going to be the drama?” Niall says, pulling a shirt over his head. 

“They’re not even talking right now. It’s like a warzone in here. Harry went and brought home some guy yesterday, after bringing home two girls the day before, you know, the lovely Bonnie and Nicole. But I guess they don’t count since they’re talking to me now, but you know,” he laughs. 

“So Harry and this guy he knows from before got it on, made a bloody racket, too. Harry’s very loud. He’s one of them types that go ‘oh!’ every time you’re all the way in. He and Bonnie have that in common.” 

“Zayn was fuckin’ _pissed_. Never seen him like that before. Didn’t even come out with us last night, and I think he got even angrier that Harry went out even though Harry didn’t pull anyone else. Just drank all night and got so drunk he cried on my shoulder in the limo… That was a little awkward.”

“I heard Harry trying to apologise to him this morning, Zayn just told him to go fuck himself.” 

“It’s making things real tense. I’m just stayin’ out of it. They need to sort it before this trip’s over or they’ll have a miserable time.” 

“Acting like cunts, if I’m honest. We’re in fuckin’ Ibiza!” 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

“House meeting downstairs!” Louis shouts, poking his head into the bedroom where Zayn’s in bed with a book. 

He darts off before Zayn can ask him what’s going on, off to shout into another room and then even louder into the next. Zayn sighs. He can hear everyone’s feet on the floorboards, shuffling down to the living room. He hopes this house meeting isn’t about him and Harry, some kind of intervention because Zayn’s turned into a recluse and Harry’s either sad or drunk or sad and drunk. Zayn’s not ready to play nice with Harry. The wound’s too fresh. He can’t even look at Harry without thinking about how good it’d felt to wake up beside him only for Harry to sleep with someone else the minute Zayn’s not giving him attention. 

He hasn’t even returned any of Christina’s calls. He doesn’t know what to say to her. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Zayn’s the last to make it to the living room. Harry’s sat on Niall’s lap, both of them wet like they’d been in the pool. Liam looks slightly worried because Louis’ got a manic grin on his face. Zayn sits next to Liam, unwittingly mirroring his worried face. 

“Glad everyone’s shown up!” Louis says, clapping his hands excitedly. 

“What’s going on?” Liam asks, folding his arms. 

“Good question, my dearest Liam. I’ve received news from the producers that I must share!” 

Zayn swallows. “Is it good news or bad news?” 

“Another good question, my unfairly good looking friend. But I suppose that would be a personal opinion.” 

“Come on, Louis, spit it out. Quit teasing,” Niall calls from somewhere around Harry’s flank. 

“Alright, alright,” Louis raises his hands in surrender. He still pauses dramatically, though, and Zayn is quite sure he’s two seconds away from throwing himself at Louis and sitting on his head until he starts talking unless he wants to suffocate with Zayn’s bony arse digging into his skull. 

“We’re hosting an event at a club tonight! They’re sending in stylists to get us done up and everything. It’s gonna be sick.” 

Niall and Liam cheer like it’s the best news they’ve ever got, and Louis looks just as thrilled about it. 

Zayn feels it in his gut that he doesn’t want to go. He’s not ready to be around alcohol or loud music or Harry. He’s tired of doing this; he doesn’t make mistakes like this all the time. Harry’s eyes meet his, pleading and uncertain. Zayn looks away. Tonight is going to make or break them.

He needs to talk to Christina. 

He gets up and goes to the phone room, ignoring the exasperated eye-roll Louis sends in his direction.

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LIAM~**

 

“I have no idea what the fuck is going on.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

“Didn’t think I was going to hear from you again,” Christina says just as Zayn says ‘hello’. 

“I know. I’m sorry. Things have been crazy and I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

“I called you like three times, left messages, even asked people to let you know I called.” She sounds upset, but she also sounds sad. Zayn can hear the quiver in her voice that means she’s close to tears, has probably shed too many in the two days she’s missed him for. 

Zayn sighs. “I know.” 

Christina scoffs. “That’s all you’re going to say?” 

“I’m tired of saying sorry, Christina. You know I’m sorry. I’m always sorry.” 

“Are you ever going to be more than sorry?” 

“I’m trying.” 

“Are you? Jesus Zayn, I’ve got a meeting with a record company and you don’t even know. You don’t even care.” 

“What?” Zayn sits up straight. “Babe, that’s amazing. Of course I care, how could you say I don’t?” 

“I’m so scared, Zayn. I’m meeting with them next Monday and I wish you were here.” 

“I wish I was with you, too. Do you have to perform for them?” 

“Yeah. They got a hold of some of my music online and contacted me. I’m so nervous, but I’m happy, too, you know? This could be it, Zayn. I could get signed.” 

“Gonna pray for you, babe, but you’re gonna be amazing, I know you are.” 

He can hear her sniffling. He can’t tell if those are happy tears or not, but he hopes they are. “Zayn, can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“D’you still love me?” 

Zayn's throat suddenly feels too tight. He’s never had to think about it this long before. He hates how it makes him feel, can tell every millisecond that stretches by is tearing her up because it’s never been like this. Zayn’s answer is always immediate even when she’s the one that needs forgiving. She deserves better than this and Zayn knows it. “Of course, babe. Always.” 

“Have you been with anyone else?” 

“Why do you always do this?” 

“You’re not answering.” 

“Christina—“ 

She hangs up. 

Zayn holds onto the phone until the operator comes on, an automated message he doesn’t understand because it’s in Spanish. 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LIAM~**

 

“I might have a girlfriend now, though. I’m taking Sophia out for dinner and then inviting her to join us at the club later. It’s gonna be ace.“

“I love Ibiza.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**


	5. THE CALM

\--  
 **EPISODE 4: THE CALM**  
\--

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LOUIS~**

 

“We’re all going out tonight; the show’s got us hosting an event at a nightclub, and it’s going to be sick.” 

“Or at least it will be as long as everyone’s getting along and Zayn and Harry get on good terms again…” Louis takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “Honestly don’t know how they’ve managed to create so much bloody drama in a few days.” 

“But I’ve got very close to Zayn over our time here, and I think he just needs to figure a lot of things out. He’s not really spoken too much about his situation with his girlfriend, but he’s mentioned it’s rocky. I feel like if he loved her the way he thinks he does he obviously wouldn’t have done half the things he’s done whilst he’s been here.” 

“Liam and I are more like Zayn in that we’re relationship kind of guys, we like to have someone to go back home to, have been through all the ups and downs. Niall and Harry don’t really seem to be like that. Niall’s all about living while he’s young, not really taking things too seriously, and Harry… Not at all sure what’s going on with him, really. He’s a bit all over the place, that one. Pretty sure half the reason things have got so out of hand is because Harry doesn’t know what to do when he really likes someone.” 

“So Liam and I have decided we’re going on a manly, manly, laddish picnic with Zayn on the beach so we can just talk and help him figure everything out. Should be fun.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

Zayn’s got one end of a giant beach towel and Liam’s got the other, trying to set it down gently without kicking up too much sand and making creases. Louis’ barking orders from beneath the shade of a tree, not even pretending he’s going to lift a finger to help. It’s hot outside, the afternoon sun high in the sky. 

Louis and Liam had ambushed Zayn on his way back to his room, telling him they’ve packed lunches and beer and they’re all going to walk to the beach and chill out, get some sun even though they’re all quite bronzed as is. 

It’s just the three of them. Niall’d been nodding off on the sofa when they left, BBC news playing in the background because Niall’s shockingly the only one of them who makes an effort to keep up with current events. Harry was in the phone room talking to his mum, looking sad and curled up with his hair pulled off his forehead in two silly little ponytails and wearing boxers and a big jumper that hangs past his knuckles even though it’s boiling hot out. Zayn had wanted to go in and hug him, kiss the bags beneath his eyes and feel the worn knit of his jumper. He’s tired of Harry moping about. 

It makes Zayn feel like it’s his fault, like everyone’s thinking it because Harry’s so different now, like he’s been muted, no big, dimpled smiles or trying to rest his balls on someone’s chin when they’ve fallen asleep. But Zayn’s still so mad. He doesn’t even know why he’s this angry, because Harry’s not his, they’ve never done much talking at all, but it’s like a fire’s gone off inside his chest and he can’t put it out no matter how hard he tries. Seeing Harry just makes it worse. 

He pushes his shades up, digging into the cooler for a beer. Louis’ lying on his side and Liam’s sitting up straight, his face giving away the fact that they’re probably not here to frolic in the waves and soak up the sun. A serious talk is definitely eminent. 

“You two are going to lecture me, then?” Zayn sighs, cracking his beer with the opener on Liam’s key ring. 

“We’re not going to lecture you,” Louis says, already looking impatient. “I just think you need someone to talk to, and Liam and I get where you’re coming from with the whole committed relationship thing. We’re not here to attack you or anything.” 

Zayn frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“You and Harry obviously have something going on, yeah? You’ve been upset with him ever since he brought that bloke round,” Liam speaks up, getting a beer of his own. “I mean, you’ve got a girlfriend.” 

Zayn snorts. “I don’t even know if I do have a girlfriend right now. She knows I’ve been messing about and she’s livid. Just hung up and won’t take my calls. Guess I deserve it. It’s not the first time we’ve been through this.” 

“You’ve cheated on her before?” Louis sits up. 

“Yeah,” Zayn runs a hand through his hair. “A few times over the year we’ve been together.” 

“I’m not following, mate. Why are you in a relationship if you’re going to do that?” 

“Because I love her, Lou. It’s just been one night stands otherwise, which doesn’t excuse it, but it’s not like I’ve been carrying on crazy affairs. I just go out with my mates, meet a fit girl, fuck her, maybe ring her again, and that’s it.” 

“I’m not attacking you, bro, I’m just trying to understand. It’s not like I’ve never fucked up; there was definitely some overlap between El and my last girlfriend and I’m not proud of that, but… You’ve got to admit Harry doesn’t count as a one night stand.” 

“You obviously fancy him,” Liam adds quietly, eyes flickering back and forth like he’s watching his parents fight. “Or you wouldn’t be so mad.” 

Zayn takes a swig of his beer. “Harry’s different,” he admits. “I don’t really know… I mean, we never talk, you know? We just… act without thinking and we never know where we stand, I guess. Like he knows I can’t be with him—“ 

“Fucking him kind of leads him on, though, doesn’t it?” Louis cuts in. 

“I haven’t fucked him,” Zayn feels the need to say.

“I saw you two yesterday, you were _very_ close, if I hadn’t walked in—“ 

“Do not need these mental images,” Liam singsongs. 

Zayn flips him off. 

They go quiet, drinking as they regroup until Louis says, “Have you ever thought that maybe you don’t love Christina the way you think you do? Like you’re just holding on because it’s what you know?” 

Zayn lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. The feeling has crossed his mind, his heart, but he’s never been able to put words to it, has never let the thought linger too long because he does love Christina, loves her so much it hurts. But maybe not the way he should. “I don’t want to hurt her. She’s put so much into this, and we do have good times, like, in spite of everything.” 

“But if you really loved her like that, you wouldn’t keep hurting her, Zayn, not like this,” Liam says. “It’s not fair to her to keep dragging it out.” 

“I was gonna ask her to marry me,” Zayn says with a laugh, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt. “I got this tattoo after the last time I cheated on her and she wanted to leave. I promised I wouldn’t do it again, said I loved her. I didn’t want her to tell her family, didn’t want to break my own mum’s heart because she loves Christina, thinks she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I was going to ask her to marry me. But I can never find the right time. I never feel ready.” 

“You’ll never feel ready until you know what you really want. But you shouldn’t link your happiness to everyone else’s, you know? Your mum just wants you to be happy and even if you lose Christina and her family, you’ll move on. Even if it’s not with Harry, I think you just… I think you’ve got a lot to think about,” Louis says.

Zayn rolls his sleeve back down. “Guess so. Thanks for… making me talk, I guess. I always keep things bottled up. I’ve never talked about everything like this. Didn’t have anyone who wasn’t like, invested, to talk to.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry, but I need to hug you both,” Liam says, and Louis laughs as he’s pulled in. Zayn does, too. It’s nice. Zayn thinks he’s already grown here, made new friends, will have people who have his back no matter what. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, how everything will play out. But he knows something’s going to have to change. 

“By the way, mate, I just have to say that is the stupidest tattoo you could’ve got. How are you going to cover that thing? Does it even look like her? I thought it was a comic book girl,” Liam blurts. 

He shuts up when Zayn levels him with a glare. 

They linger on at the beach, Liam and Louis loudly people-watching and Zayn trying to figure himself out, thinking about Christina and his life back home, about Harry and all the things they don’t know about each other, about how he doesn’t want to go back to a life without any of these lads with him.

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL AND HARRY~**

 

Niall and Harry are shirtless, both fresh out of the shower with limp hair and flushed, damp skin.

“We got bored, so we took a shower together,” Niall says as Harry gnaws at his shoulder. “Well, we kind of had to because we drew on each other with whipped cream and ketchup and the stylists are going to be here soon to get us lookin’ sexy for the club tonight.” 

“This is the kind of thing we have to resort to when everyone abandons us,” Harry says before making faces at Niall. 

“What’s wrong with you? Weirdo,” Niall laughs, shoving Harry’s face away. “They didn’t even invite us. Rude bastards.” 

“Niall washed my back and helped me get shampoo out of my eyes.” 

Niall rolls his eyes. “The things I do to cheer you up. You wouldn’t get shampoo in your eyes if you cut your bloody hair.” 

“You like my hair long,” Harry says, shaking his hair out like a wet dog, spattering Niall with droplets. 

“Unbelievable. But I really am glad you’ve cheered up. I love you, ” Niall says, hugging Harry tight and kissing his cheek. They hold each other for a bit, Harry letting his eyes slip shut. 

“You give really good hugs,” Harry says when Niall pulls away. 

Niall wriggles his eyebrows. “You falling for me there, Styles?” 

“You wish.” 

There’s a loud knock at the front door. 

“I think the stylists are here!” Harry says, getting up and running off. 

Niall’s about to run off with him when Harry trips in the doorway, limbs flailing as he topples over his own two feet. 

Niall turns to the camera. “Good to have him back.” 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

There are racks of clothes everywhere and people milling about when Zayn gets back to the house with Louis and Liam in tow. There’s a woman with lilac hair going at Harry with a hair dryer, her hands covered in tattoos, whilst Niall skims through one of the racks, hair already styled into a nice quiff. He’s chatting with one of the stylists, a short woman with dark skin and long, wavy, black hair. 

“This is Lou and Caroline,” Harry says, talking loudly over the roar of the hair dryer. “They’re helping us get ready.” 

“You can stop yelling now, dryer’s off,” the woman laughs. 

“Which one’s Lou and which one’s Caroline?” Louis asks, putting his bags down. 

“Hair’s Lou, and I’m Caroline,” the one who’d been talking to Niall says. “Why don’t we get you lot over here first? I’ve already picked out the colours for tonight, but we’ve got a bit of wiggle room and things to choose from.” 

They all exchange looks but head over anyway. Zayn tries to pay attention to the cut of the trousers Caroline’s showing him rather than Harry cooing at pictures of Lou’s baby as Lou scrunches product into his hair. 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN~**

 

“Today’s already been so long, I can’t believe we’ve got to go to a club now and ‘work’. At least we look sharp.” He adjusts his leather jacket. “We actually get to keep what we’re wearing tonight. This jacket’s my baby now.” 

“I’m going to try to patch things up with Harry tonight. I’ve thought on it and I don’t want us to be like this. He’s a cool guy and I think we need to give each other a real chance, whether or not anything more happens between us.” 

“Knowing us, something more probably will happen… I don’t know, but like, we need to talk. I want us to have a good time tonight. No more avoiding him.”

“Still haven’t been able to talk to Christina, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. I think we both need time. I don’t even know if she’ll take me back this time, or if I should even go back, if it’ll ever be stable between us… Never thought it’d end like this if this is the end. I’m just really confused.” 

“Have to say, though, getting styled is really hard work. How do celebrities people do this all the time? Took ages to get us all sorted. We’re all wearing black though. Swagged out. Versace Versace. Westside.” He does a little dance in his seat.

“That was embarrassing. I apologise.” 

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

Harry makes Zayn’s heart skip a beat when Zayn finally catches him alone, giving himself a once-over in front of the bathroom mirror, fiddling with his hair. It’s swooped back and piled up high on his head, curling on the sides, and he’s wearing a sheer black shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, but he’s still left it partially unbuttoned anyway, showing off his tanned chest and throng of necklaces and swallow tattoos, tight black jeans clinging to the lean curves of his thighs. 

Zayn can’t stop looking at him and Harry seems to be having a similar problem, eyes sliding slowly down Zayn’s body and then back up. He looks away when he realises Zayn’s caught him, cheeks pink. He shifts awkwardly, about to murmur an excuse and skitter away when Zayn stops him. 

“We need to talk.” 

“Now?” Harry sighs, looking like he very much dreads where this is going. “Can’t we do this after we get back?” 

“I think we should do it before we start drinking.” 

Harry bites his lips nervously, folding his arms. “Alright.” 

“I’m sorry for shutting you out like that.” Harry looks surprised. Zayn continues, “I haven’t been very fair to you, like I never tell you what I’m thinking and expect you to know what to do.” 

“You can’t just keep shutting me out and thinking I’ll take it when you’re ready to treat me like I exist again,” Harry says, his shoulders slumping a bit. 

“I know. And I’m sorry. I won’t do that to you again.” 

“Okay. Good.” 

“But it’s not like you make it easy for me either. Like what the fuck was that whole Ben thing all about?” 

“I thought you were done with me for good this time! Have you ever seen the way you look at someone when you’re upset? It was like I didn’t even exist to you.” 

Zayn feels bad. He knows how he gets, has heard it from Christina, his mum, his sisters, Danny that one time when they were fifteen and they’d had a big falling out over Danny’s mum finding where they stashed their weed in an empty cologne box and Danny ratted Zayn out. 

“I know, I can’t control my temper when it gets like that. But I really do like you, Harry, and it felt like you felt the same, then as soon as we had an issue, you brought someone over and fucked them.” 

And just like that, Zayn understands what he puts Christina through, how it must be hurt even worse for her because they’re meant to love each other, be in a relationship, and Zayn’s put her through this too many times. 

He doesn’t know when he let himself get so selfish. 

“I wanted to get over you. It didn’t work, but that’s what I was trying to do. At first I wanted you to be jealous, but after I did it, I didn’t want you to see at all, because I didn’t really want to hurt you like I thought I did. You confuse me a lot, Zayn. I can’t read your mind.”

“I know,” Zayn runs a hand through his hair, disturbing the quiff Lou’d worked so hard on. “For what it’s worth, it hurt a lot. Especially when you just called me your ‘flatmate.’” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, and all of a sudden he’s pulling Zayn into a hug, face buried in the crook of Zayn’s neck. Zayn hadn’t realised how much he’d missed just touching Harry until now. He feels warm again, less cracked. 

He lets his eyes close, lets himself get lost in the feeling of Harry’s hand between his shoulder blades, a comforting weight. 

“I’m glad we’re cool again. I missed you,” Harry says quietly. 

“Missed you, too,” Zayn says, kissing his forehead. 

Harry pulls away from him. “Zayn, I hate to do this, but… What are we? Like are we done messing about?” 

“I… I don’t know. I guess we’ll play it by ear. I can’t promise you I won’t fuck up again, but… I think things might be over. With me and Christina. But I still love her, you know? I’m not even sure that I’d be able to say ‘no’ if she wants me back again.” 

“I’ll make you get over her,” Harry says, standing straight, a determined line creasing the skin between his eyebrows. 

Zayn laughs, tangling their fingers together. “You make me crazy, you know. It’s not supposed to be like this with someone you’ve only met.” 

“I’ve never wanted anyone to choose me this bad,” Harry says. “So, I’m not quite sure how to go about it in an entirely rational way.” 

“Choose you?” Zayn frowns. 

Louis interrupts them once again, bouncing into the doorway and doing a shimmy. Zayn wonders if Louis’ ever out of energy, doesn’t understand how he’s still going at full speed after throwing a Frisbee back and forth with Liam for the better part of the day in the too-hot sun. 

“Get your arses into the limo! It’s party time!” 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: HARRY~**

 

“Zayn and I are talking again,” Harry says, a big smile dimpling his cheeks. “I feel really good. I missed being able to talk to him.” 

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up, I know he’s still got feelings for his ex, or girlfriend or, whatever. But I think we’ve got something. I want him to be with me, I guess.” He laughs at himself, eyes widening. “I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like this about anyone. I wasn’t expecting it. It’s kinda nice. A bit terrifying.” 

“I keep saying I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but if it doesn’t work out, I think I’ll be heartbroken.”

He wrings his hands together, clasps them beneath his chin like he’s in prayer. “Wish me luck.” 

“Have you ever listened to ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ by The Smiths? That sums up my feelings quite well, I think.” 

“That sounded a lot more hipster than I intended. Sorry. You should listen to it, if you haven’t though. Good song.” 

“Wait, do we get in trouble for endorsing music? It’s The Smiths, though. Classic. Shouldn’t get in trouble for that.” 

“Sorry. I’m doing it again. I’ll just go now.”

 

 **~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

Louis nods approvingly and gives Zayn a smile when he sits next to Harry in the limo. The air feels so much lighter, Zayn hadn’t realised the dark cloud he was carrying had settled over everyone else, too. 

The hosting gig is easy. They go on stage, introduce themselves as the cast of _Ibiza Shore_ and keep the crowd pumped along with the DJ. Niall speaks a bit of the Spanish he’s picked up and everyone goes crazy for it. They hang out in booths, dance, carry around bottles with those little spouts for people to take shots from. 

It’s fun, Zayn’s surprised he’s actually having a good time, leather jacket left at their booth and his sleeves rolled up as he tips a bottle into some bloke’s mouth. He can see Liam chatting with a group of people, Sophia on his arm. Louis and Niall are up on stage with the DJ, drunk and yelling shout-outs to all kinds of people, including Michael Jackson for some reason.

Zayn spies Harry on the dance floor, in his element with a throng of girls surrounding him, shirt halfway undone and strobe lights casting blue and green and red splashes all over him. His hair’s deflated some, gone limp and curly all over as some blonde whispers something in his ear. Zayn feels jealousy starting to boil in his stomach, his chest going tight. 

But when Harry sees him looking, it’s like no one else is in the room. Harry pulls away from the girls, suddenly right there in front of Zayn looking like he wants Zayn to kiss him. 

“D’you think we can leave yet?” he asks, licking his lips. 

Zayn shrugs. He doesn’t care. They’re leaving anyway. 

He can’t keep his hands off Harry in the back of the taxi, has to have a hand on his thigh, shoved under the back of his shirt so he can feel his skin, cool with drying sweat. They kiss like they’ve been apart for years, desperate and consuming. Zayn’s missed Harry’s mouth more than he thought he could. 

“What did you mean earlier? About wanting me to choose you?” Zayn asks when he can finally think about anything other than _Harry, Harry, Harry._

“Don’t want to talk about it now,” Harry says, pressing his lips to Zayn’s neck when Zayn starts to protest. “Later. I just wanna be with you now.” 

Zayn supposes he understands that, he feels it, too. They never really talk, they don’t even talk about talking. But now they are. Things are changing. Zayn doesn’t even worry about getting in over his head because he wants to be swept away by Harry, wants to drown in him right now. 

“How long do you think we have until the others get back?” Harry asks once they’re back at the house, fetching a bottle of tequila and getting limes out of the fridge. 

Zayn shrugs. “It’s only 12.30. Probably not for a while.” 

“I wanna do a shot off you.” 

Zayn laughs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun, come on,” Harry says, patting the counter. 

Zayn’s tipsy enough to just go with it, kicking his boots off and lying down, laughing as Harry rucks his shirt up beneath his armpits. 

“You’re so hot,” Harry sighs, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s hipbone. 

Zayn’s getting hard already, having Harry’s mouth on him, looking down and seeing all that hair and those lips so close to his cock, reminding him of that first time by the pool. 

Harry kisses his way up Zayn’s abs, sinking his teeth into the gun tattooed on Zayn’s side, flicking his tongue against Zayn’s nipple before sucking down, swirling his tongue wickedly and looking up at Zayn like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Zayn can’t do anything but look back, hand buried in Harry’s curls as he arches his back, tries to rub off against him. 

Harry looks too smug when he moves away to get a shot glass and cut the lime into wedges. 

“You’re a right tease, you know that?” Zayn says as Harry upturns a saltshaker right above his navel. 

“Stop complaining, I deserve to torture you a little,” Harry says, pressing the lime between Zayn’s lips until Zayn lets him rest it in his mouth. “Prat.” 

Zayn wriggles his eyebrows. 

Harry licks the salt up, trailing his tongue unnecessarily slowly until he’s at Zayn’s ribcage, making Zayn shift his hips because his jeans are too tight on his cock now. Harry takes the shot, wincing as he quickly leans over to bite the lime out of Zayn’s mouth. 

Zayn watches Harry’s Adam’s apple bob, cheeks hollow. Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone like this. 

“Do I get a turn then?” he asks, sitting up so he can taste the citrus on Harry’s tongue. 

Harry’s eyes are lidded as he shrugs his shoulders slowly, shirt slipping and showing more of his collarbones and tattoos. “If you want.” 

Zayn slaps Harry’s arse. “Get your trousers off.”

“Why do I have to take my trousers off?” 

Zayn smirks. 

But Harry’s a good boy, so he listens, takes his pants off, too when Zayn tells him to. 

“I have never had anyone do a shot off me like this,” Harry laughs, giddy. He’s lying on his front, hips hovering off the countertop because he’s too hard to lie on the unforgiving granite, looking over his shoulder as Zayn sets the wedge of lime on his lower back where his shirt’s pushed up, bare arse framed by sheer black. 

“I like to get creative,” Zayn grins, pouring salt onto the roundest curve of Harry’s bum. 

He gives the other cheek a smack as he licks the salt off, Harry giving a small yelp, before downing the shot and taking the lime into his mouth. 

“You’re such a pervert,” Harry says, laughing as Zayn pours more salt, this time holding him open so that it’s in the cleft of his arse, getting onto his balls and inner thighs. 

“You like it,” Zayn says, this time licking the salt right off Harry’s hole. Harry moans, pushing his arse up and lowering his face into the crook of his folded arm. 

Zayn barely manages to do another shot, forgetting all about the lime as he pushes his tongue _in_ , pulls Harry back so his arse his right in Zayn’s face. Harry lets out a long moan, shocked as Zayn licks him out proper, wet and filthy, fucking Harry back and forth onto his tongue until his jaw aches and Harry’s babbling Zayn’s name over and over again. 

They barely have the good sense to move this to the shag shack just in case the others get back and end up traumatised by the sight of Zayn’s face buried in Harry’s arse. 

Zayn throws Harry down onto the mattress, doesn’t know how he manages to get himself naked when it feels like he wants Harry so much that he can’t stop his hands from shaking. 

Neither of them is very patient now, Harry whispering over and over for Zayn to hurry and get inside him as he stretches Harry on his slicked-up fingers, one quickly becoming two and Harry biting on his neck as he gets the third in, clenching down desperately. 

Zayn fucks Harry on his back because he wants to see his face, practically bending him in half with the way he’s got his knees pulled up against his chest, hair falling across and sticking to his sweaty forehead. He flushes red all the way from the tips of his ears to his chest, keeps his moans trapped in his throat until Zayn grinds his hips just right, makes him cry out ‘fuck’ and ‘harder’. His eyes are either squeezed shut or half-open, looking down between them where his cock is smearing pre-come against his own belly and Zayn’s pounding away between his thighs. Harry’s so tight and hot inside it takes Zayn’s breath away, gripping his cock like he doesn’t want Zayn to ever pull out, either. Zayn feels like he could fuck Harry forever, his fingers knotted with Harrys, holding his hands down onto the bed. 

It’s that weird drunk sex feeling where you can’t tell if you’ve been doing it for an hour or five minutes, but Zayn feels like it’s over too soon, coming as he tugs Harry off so that Harry’s orgasm hits before Zayn pulls out. 

He drags himself to the bathroom, naked and dazed as he rinses his mouth out because he really wants to kiss Harry again tonight, and rolls the condom off and chucks it in the bin. Harry joins him because he apparently needs to piss and couldn’t wait, walking a little funny. Zayn suddenly can’t stop laughing and neither can Harry. It’s comfortable. Zayn can’t remember why he ever tried to cut this off. 

“Are you going to tell me what you meant?” Zayn asks quietly once they’re in bed, under the thin sheets. 

Harry looks tired, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. “Meant just that. I haven’t had much luck with, you know, relationships. First time I think I was in love was with someone older. I was seventeen, she was thirty-two.” 

“Wow,” Zayn says. “Teacher?” 

“Nah. Met her through friends. But people gave us a really hard time and we felt like we couldn’t ever go anywhere, like it had to be this big secret. I actually introduced her to my dad when we met up for lunch and he was so angry he didn’t say anything the whole time. I think she was embarrassed, really, and it wasn’t worth it. What’d I have to offer her? I was still in school,” he laughs, self-deprecating. “Looking back I can’t blame her. So she broke up with me, and it took me a long time to get over it. That’s the first time someone didn’t choose me.” 

Zayn softens, reaching for Harry’s hand. 

“I’ve always been flirty, you know, sort of crazy. Just me. I think people like it when I chase them down, but they try to change me, you know? Or I’m not what they expected. I’ve really liked some people, but it’s always something I’ve done or didn’t do that ends things.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not like I help myself any. I always make a point to look like I’m fine. You’ve seen how that goes. You’ve been the only person to… chase me back. If that makes sense.” 

“Makes perfect sense,” Zayn kisses Harry on the mouth. “You’re worth it, you know? Even if it’s not with me, someone will realise it.” 

“Want it to be with you, though,” Harry yawns. 

Zayn does, too, but he doesn’t say it. 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL AND LOUIS (AND LIAM)~**

 

“Shout out to Michael Jackson!” Louis declares, throwing his arms up.

“Don’t forget Justin Bieber. Legend,” Niall slurs, so pissed that his eyes are rolling back. 

“Club was sick. I wanna host club events for the rest of my life. I never want to leave Ibiza. I’m gonna make El move here. We’ll learn to speak Castilian and everything. It’ll be sick.” 

“Shout out to Wiz Khalifa,” Niall says, bursting into a fit of giggles. 

Louis looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

Liam steps into the confession room, looking disturbed. “There’s something sticky on the counter. I don’t even want to know what it is, but I think I do.” 

“Must’ve been from Zayn and Harry, horny bastards,” Niall laughs, sliding down in his seat. “We need a new rule. No fucking in the kitchen.” 

“It got onto my elbow, mate,” Liam says. “Fuck.” 

Niall laughs even louder. 

“This house is a disaster,” Louis says. 

“Shit, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Niall says, getting up quickly. 

“Who even does that on a counter, they’re two blokes, how does that work?” Liam complains. 

“Didn’t make it to the toilet! Sorry, lads! Looking for a mop now!” Niall calls from the corridor. 

Louis sighs at the camera. 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**


	6. THE STORM PART 1

\--  
 **EPISODE 5: THE STORM PART 1**  
\--

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL~**

 

“It’s been really good in the house these past few days,” Niall says, fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar, hoodie pulled up over his snapback. 

“No fights or weirdness, just everyone gettin’ along and spending the holiday like we should.”

He strums a few scales, twisting and untwisting pegs as he goes along. “Naturally, you can imagine it’s all because Zayn and Harry have made up. They’re in like, the honeymoon phase right now, practically moved into the shag shack the both of ‘em. I couldn’t tell you the last time Harry’s slept in our room. Not since they were fighting last.” 

“I don’t mind, though,” Niall grins. “I’ve had Bonnie and Nicole over since, so it’s been pretty sweet having the room to myself. Also met this girl named Barbara while the lads and I were on this historic tour visiting churches and shit the other day. She’s a model, got a cute Hungarian accent.” He wriggles his eyebrows. “Will definitely be giving her a ring soon.” 

“I really hope my mum doesn’t watch this show when it airs. I don’t think I’m going to look very gentlemanly,” he snorts, putting his guitar down.

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

Zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of Harry’s body.

They’d fallen asleep after having their usual big breakfast with the others, tonnes of fruit and eggs and rashers ( _turkey_ rashers special made for Zayn because Harry’d wanted Zayn to know he remembered), opting to stay in and snog like teenagers whilst everyone else packed up for another day the beach. 

Zayn doubts he’ll even need to go to the beach again any time soon after this holiday. He still can’t swim and hasn’t really made a real effort at learning no matter how many times Niall offers to teach him with those big, pleading blue eyes, even tells Zayn he’ll buy him those water wings like they put on little kids when they’re learning, says he’ll get them in any colour Zayn likes with an earnest face that makes Zayn squeeze him into a tight hug because Niall’s too adorable for his own good, more adorable than Harry he’d reckon, if that wouldn’t get him put on the sofa for the night. 

But right now Zayn feels like he’s had more than enough sun, can already hear some of his aunts and cousins gasping at how dark he’s got. And all his shoes have sand in them, even the ones he’s never worn to the beach. 

It’s just more fun to lie in bed with Harry, putting music on and introducing Harry to more hip hop than the smattering he’s already got on his iPod. Or they’ll both quietly catch up on the books they’d brought but have barely had the time to read in between all the drinking and nightclubs, and general laddish activities. 

Zayn’s learnt to appreciate Harry in ways he’d never thought he would: he loves that Harry can crave silence and stillness as much as Zayn does even though he’s the kind of person who often feels like they’re made of pure energy. They often spend time together just existing in one space, not saying much at all and mumbling half-sentences when they feel the need to talk. Or they’ll have good, real conversation, the kinds that makes you understand someone a lot more, things about their lives at home and dreams they’re too scared to follow but secretly hope will come true. 

Zayn learns that Harry’s mum’s been married twice before, and she’s engaged now, that he’d never liked his first stepdad and he thinks it’s what’s made him the way he is, awful at keeping anyone around for very long, and that he’d hated living above a pub, that it’d been a source of contention between his parents and his biological dad hadn’t visited much during that time. Zayn can’t imagine anything like that; they might not have always had money, but he’d always had his family, both his mum and dad. 

It makes him want to be there for Harry, take care of him like he doesn’t think people realise Harry wants to be cared for. It also scares him because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do that at this point in his life where everything’s awaiting a resolution. He doesn’t want to be another person who didn’t ‘choose’ Harry.

Another thing he likes about Harry is how tactile he is. He’ll rest his head in Zayn’s lap to read even when it can’t possibly be that comfortable, touches Zayn’s face because he can, reaches for his hand to tangle their fingers together. It makes Zayn’s stomach twist, thinking about how Christina was never very into how handsy Zayn can be, didn’t like cuddling too much and thought it was weird when he played with her hair for too long, shaking her head with an exasperated smile and batting him off. 

Harry’s just been good. A good distraction from everything Zayn’s avoiding, something Zayn thinks he wants to keep long after they leave Ibiza. 

But back to Harry’s body. 

Zayn likes Harry’s body a lot, loves it even. Especially right now, because Harry’s naked and on top of him, clenching hot and tight around his cock, head thrown back with his mouth slack, his throng of necklaces shaking against his chest. He loves watching the muscle shift beneath Harry’s skin, how his tattoos look so much darker when his skin is damp with sweat, the porn star faces he makes that should look ridiculous but don’t because they’re genuine. 

They’d just been listening to music before, Zayn introducing Harry to J Cole. The hand Harry’d been resting on Zayn’s thigh turned from intimate to needy somewhere along the eighth track of ‘Born Sinner’, slipping higher until he was pawing at Zayn’s dick and kissing his neck, murmuring against Zayn’s jaw about how bad he wanted to ride him. 

Harry’s definitely very pretty to look at, strong body but no unnecessary bulk, just long and tight, the biceps Zayn can tell he works on thickened up and firm but still easy for Zayn to curl his fingers around and leave bruises on. 

And he feels just as good as he looks, too, tightest Zayn’s ever felt and he takes _everything_ like he was made for it. Zayn’s also very much into his cock, loves the weight of it in his mouth and inside him like it had been the night before, long and thick enough to make Zayn feel stretched, on fire. He’d had to bite into the pillow to stop himself from waking the whole house up. Zayn can still feel it when he sits, had turned bright red at the table when Harry caught the look on his face as Zayn slid onto one of the barstools, looking so smug Zayn had flicked a couple grapes at him.

Zayn pushes Harry’s hair out of his face, keeps it out of the way as he brings Harry in halfway to kiss him, swallowing the whimpering noises he’s making as Zayn slams up into him hard, hips making loud, slapping noises as Harry moans into his mouth and desperately grinds back down. 

“Gonna come soon,” Harry says, and Zayn can feel it, how erratic his hips are moving and how he’s practically squeezing Zayn’s orgasm out of him, too.

“Yeah, do it, babe,” Zayn says, hands coming down to grab at Harry’s arse to keep his cock from slipping out with the crazy way Harry’s started to bounce. 

Harry comes just as Zayn bites down on the skin between his collarbones, letting out a breathy moan and making a mess of Zayn’s chest. Zayn fucks him through it, keeps going until Harry’s completely limp on top of him, gasping as Zayn fucks in rough for the last time, nails dug into Zayn’s shoulders. 

“I’m going to miss doing nothing but fucking you all day,” Zayn says as Harry rolls off him, trying to catch his breath like he’s just run a marathon. 

“Me too,” Harry laughs, eyes closed. 

They stay there until the room feels too hot and the desperate need to have a wash settles in, fucked-out turning into filthy, and the smell of two nights worth of sex hanging thick. 

“I think we’ve become _that couple_ ,” Zayn laughs, reaching for Harry’s hand. “All we do is fuck, we’ve barely been going out with everyone.”

“Did you just say we’re a couple?” Harry’s eyes are bright, looking amused but also so hopeful that Zayn knows it’ll crush him if he answers this wrong. 

There’s a knock at the door. It’s Liam.

“Er… We’re going on a yacht later if you want to come. One of Niall’s girls knows some rich bloke who’ll let us on,” he says through the door. “There’ll be a DJ and everything.” 

Zayn turns to Harry.

Harry gives him a small smile. “We’re coming!” he says back, giving Zayn’s hand a squeeze.

“Alright, see you soon,” Liam says before shuffling back down the stairs. Zayn can hear him yelling down the stairs that the ‘lovebirds’ will be joining them all. It makes Zayn feel all funny inside, makes him look down at his toes like a shy school girl whose crush flashed her a smile in the courtyard. 

Harry slips out of the bed, standing on the balls of his feet so he can have a full-body stretch, arms high above his head. His joints crack loudly, hair a mess. He looks proper fucked out, moving languid like honey, Zayn’s fingerprints still standing out against the softer skin that clings above his hips. It makes Zayn want to press his fingers in again, leave a few new marks, too.

He follows Harry into the shower, helping him rinse apple-scented shampoo out of his eyes because Harry’s the tallest, most ridiculous toddler in the world and Zayn doesn’t know why he keeps his hair this long if he always manages to have shampoo and conditioner drip from his fringe into his eyes almost every time. 

“You should use the stuff for babies. It’s gentler,” Zayn laughs as Harry blinks big, irritated eyes at him. 

Harry pouts his bottom lip. It’s not helping with the toddler comparisons. Zayn’s endeared like he always is these days. 

He kisses Harry gently, licking at his tongue and sucking on his bottom lip. Harry looks as dazed as Zayn feels. 

Zayn licks his lips, still tasting Harry all over. “By the way, I think we at least count as a couple of idiots now.” 

Harry looks confused for a moment before smiling. 

He doesn’t stop smiling even when they’re in the car with the others and Louis’ wedged himself between them. 

  
  
  
**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN~**

 

Zayn runs his hands over his face, laughing. “Things between me and Harry have got very heavy very quickly.” 

“I’m not sure what it really means right now, but I’m much happier than I’ve been in a long time. It’s like a weight on my chest I hadn’t even been aware I was carrying’s like, gone.”

“It’s just nice to be able to have someone I can chill with, someone who gets that I need my space, you know? Didn’t expect that from him at all when we first met and he was all crazy and running about with his dick out… I mean he’s still like that to an extent, but there’s a lot more to him. He’s a pensive kind of bloke, really thoughtful and more sensitive than you’d think. Definitely wears his heart on his sleeve.” 

“We’re like total opposites but also really similar in a lot of ways. I don’t know. It just works right now. He feels like something I’ve needed.” 

“But I still catch myself thinking about Christina sometimes,” he sighs. “Things are very unresolved with us. I’ve not even told my mum we might not be together. I guess I’m just waiting now until I go home. I don’t think either of us wants to do this over the phone. We’ve been together too long for it to end like that”

“I know it’s probably not wise to be getting so serious with Harry when I’m not even properly out of my last relationship, but, it’s hard to explain. He just makes me happy. It feels right.” 

“I can tell Harry really likes me, but he’s got this abandonment issue, you know? Like I don’t want to be yet another person who’s let him down. Quite worried for both our sakes that I might be.” 

“I just feel really in over my head sometimes,” Zayn sighs, burying his face in his hands. “This is going to end so badly. I’m terrified, to be honest.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

“How does she know this guy again?” Louis asks Niall. 

They’re on the yacht, and it’s _massive_ , the big, white luxury kind with an upstairs part and fancy cabins that he imagines someone like Simon Cowell would own. Or at least that’s what Zayn assumes; he’s not got very much experience with yachts. He’s never even been on one before, he doesn’t think any of them have, not even Harry who they all take the piss out of for being posh. 

They’re on the deck, sprawled on the lounge that runs along the stern. It’s bright out, the sky a vivid blue without the sun beating down on them too harshly, which is a blessing for Niall because his shoulders have been reddish-pink for over a week now. Zayn’s frankly worried he’s done permanent damage. 

The bloke who owns the yacht is called ‘Santos’. He’s middle aged and fleshy from drinking too much liquor with his gourmet meals, greying hair slicked into a ponytail. Niall’s latest girl, Barbara is the one who knows him, and she’s chatting with him in the steering area. She’s said he’s a CEO or something like that, not really glossing on the details. 

Niall shrugs. “Says he’s always tryin’ to get her to sleep with him, so she pretends to be interested enough to have use of his yacht because he thinks that’ll get her to like him. She’s a feisty one.” 

“Quite,” Liam says, watching Zayn roll a joint on the table. 

That’s another great thing about Santos: Santos has weed. He’s also got cocaine, but they’ve passed on that; the producers had made it clear from the start that they weren’t to be messing about with any hard drugs whilst filming for the show. 

“So what about Bonnie and Nicole? Didn’t even invite them,” Louis says, nudging Niall with his foot as he has a swallow of beer. 

Niall looks at Louis like he’s mental. “Mate, that’d be trouble. I might’ve got lucky and pulled two girls at once, but three? I don’t think any man should play with fate like that.” 

“So you’re still seeing them then?” Zayn laughs, incredulous. Niall’s amazing and cute and funny, but Zayn still has no idea how he manages to pull shit like that off. Zayn’s never been confident enough to even try, not since he got shot down when he was seventeen and trying to turn a three-way kiss with two older girls at a house party into something more, getting laughed at by both girls, and then laughed at again by Ant and Danny because one of the girls is good mates with Danny and immediately filled him in on the _cheek_ of his friend. 

“Been watching too much _Skins_ that one,” she’d said. Ant still gives him shit about it, badly mimicking her voice and everything. Zayn still sees her around sometimes. The last time she’d seen him was at the corner shop near Zayn’s parents’ house. She’d taken in all his tattoos and Doc Martens and looked like she wanted to make up for it but quickly hurried off when Christina rounded the corner, telling Zayn they only had salt and vinegar and prawn crisps left. 

Niall just grins. “I don’t kiss and tell, mate.” 

“Legend,” Louis declares, high-fiving Niall. Liam gives him one, too. 

Zayn shakes his head, letting the flame from his lighter lick at the rolling paper before having a pull on the joint and lighting it. He lets his eyes wander to where Harry is, standing on the bow. He’s taken his trunks off and rolled his boxer briefs up, trying to maintain an even tan. His hair’s up in one of the little topknots Zayn’s got used to, sunglasses on. He looks silly, and yet Zayn still wants to steal him away to a cabin, test how soft the big beds are whilst the DJ spins a slow jam from where she’s set her deck up on the upper level. 

Harry’s got his phone out, snapping pictures of the sky that he’ll send to his sister later. He’s always taking pictures of everything: his feet in the pool, their dinner at a restaurant, a butterfly settling on Zayn’s shoulder at the beach, neon signs. He likes documenting things, little hipster with all his photo filter apps. But he also just likes to correspond with his mum and sister a lot, let them know what he’s up to. They send him cute picture in turn. Zayn’s seen the emails, is amazed at how alike they all look, dimples and all. Zayn thinks it’s sweet. 

“Can you at least pass the joint before you decide to go over there?” Louis says, eyes crinkled from his smile. 

Zayn hadn’t realised he’d been staring, but when isn’t he when it comes to Harry? He has another hit and then passes it to Louis who greedily snatches it from between his fingers, eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep toke.

Barbara comes back over, rolling her eyes for their benefit the moment her back’s to Santos. She grabs Niall’s snapback, twisting it back to front on her own head. She’s gorgeous; her bikini showing curves in all the nice places and long auburn hair. It says a lot about how twisted up in knots Harry’s got him that Zayn still goes back to staring at Harry and his gangly legs and rolled up boxers instead of the bloody model right in front of him. 

Zayn gets up, making his way over to the front of the boat where Harry is. Zayn could never be that brave, just watching the way the bow slits through the water’s surface away from all edges makes his heart beat fast. But Harry can swim and Zayn can’t. And Zayn’s afraid of almost everything whilst Harry’s only afraid of getting his heart broken. 

When Harry sees him coming, he beams at him, quickly ambling over and jumping off his perch to meet Zayn in the middle.

“We’ve got weed if you want,” Zayn says, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. 

“I’m alright,” Harry says, resting his head in the crook of Zayn’s neck. “Smells good on you, though.” 

Zayn laughs as Harry takes a big sniff off him. “You’re a weirdo, Styles.” 

“Everything smells good on you. Even cigarettes. And I’ve never much liked the smell of them.” 

“You smell like chewing gum all the time. Chewing gum and something sweet. Probably all that stuff you use in your hair.” 

Harry stands up straight, licking his lips. “I like when you notice stuff about me.” 

“Yeah?” 

Harry nods, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed at how uncool he sounds. 

Zayn kisses his cheek. “I notice lots of things about you.” 

“Zayn?” 

“Yeah, babe?” 

“Let’s go find somewhere to fuck about.” 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LIAM~**

 

“It’s been a great day. We just chilled on this really nice yacht after going to the beach, got a little bit stoned and watched the sunset. It was good. I’m really going to miss not having these lads together 24/7. It really is like having four brothers.”

He frowns. “Well… three brothers and a very good friend who’s shagging one of your brothers…” 

“Zayn and Harry are obsessed with each other,” Liam says, face completely devoid of humour. 

“Like we finally get them to come out with us and they still manage to disappear and miss the most spectacular sunset I think I’ve ever seen in my life. But I suppose it’s a bit hypocritical of me to say I blame them; if my girlfriend was here I’d probably have tried to run off, as well. It’s not every day you get to shag on a yacht. “

“The yacht’s finally docked again and we’re all getting into the car when Harry grabs Zayn’s hand and the two of them just run off in the opposite direction. They’re _mental_. Who does that? No one had any clue where they went, but after waiting round for a bit we realised they weren’t coming back, which is alright, you know. We’re all adults here, so we just went back home without them.” 

“They pulled up at the house in a taxi a couple hours later, apparently went exploring and also happened to get matching tattoos.” 

Liam’s face is still unimpressed. “As if Zayn’s not already got that weird tattoo of his girlfriend. Or ex. Or whatever. I’ve never seen anything quite like these two, think they really deserve each other. And you’ll never believe what the tattoos actually say. It’s like, they do know those things are permanent right? Could at least be a little more sensible about it.”

“’Might as well…’ and ‘Don’t think I won’t…’ on your hips? Really? I think we’ve all figured out you will, Zayn. We’ve heard it.” 

Liam shakes his head. “Don’t even want to know how they came up with those.” 

“Probably explains how they got the counter so sticky that one time. I’d still like an apology for that, or at the very least a vague explanation.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

Time flies when you’re having fun. 

They’re nearing their last weekend in Ibiza and Zayn can’t believe how quickly it’s all gone by, how much has changed, how much _he’s_ changed. 

It all hits him on Thursday night whilst he’s curled up on the sofa with Niall and Louis, watching Harry try to teach Liam introductory yoga poses on the living room floor because Liam’d mentioned offhand that he’s always wanted to learn. Harry’s predictably the sort who can rattle off complicated Starbucks orders without looking at the menu when he’s in a hurry, lives for discovering fancy little free trade coffee shops with original artwork hanging on the walls and quirky puns about the day’s specials scribbled in chalk on the board outside. He’s just the type you’d expect to be into poky record shops and ‘exotic’ fitness fads.

“Helps with my back,” Harry’d said. 

“I think if you stopped shagging so much your back would probably feel better,” Louis’d said back, eyes softening as Harry stole a chip off his plate. 

The phone rings and Niall automatically gets up to answer it since it’s usually one of his three girlfriends ringing at all hours of the day. The way he’s whooping loudly a minute later isn’t even anything out of the ordinary until he’s running back into the living room. 

“The show is helping us throw a big party Friday night, inviting people and planners and we can even do costumes if we want.” 

“That’s sick,” Harry says from where he’s making a bridge with his back, Zayn’s Bob Marley t-shirt riding up and showing his belly. 

“Guess we’re going out with a bang,” Zayn says, and it feels bittersweet. He’s going to have to deal with Christina and actually put a name on what this _thing_ with Harry is, because it can’t continue out of the house like this. 

A loud series of knocks rattle the door, someone pushing the doorbell over and over. They all exchange puzzled looks; no one’s said anything about expecting company tonight. 

“I’ll answer it,” Louis says, and for some reason something in Zayn’s gut tells him to follow, so he does. 

There’s a girl standing in the doorway that Zayn doesn’t recognise, but Louis’ face lights up immediately, like he’s seeing someone he’s been missing something awful. He pulls her into a hug so tight that her feet lift off the ground, spinning her and laughing like Zayn’s never heard him laugh before. 

“El, what are you doing here, fuck,” Louis says into her neck, finally letting her down. 

“The show brought us in for your last party,” she laughs as he pulls away to slide his thumb down her cheek. El. Eleanor. Louis’ girlfriend.

“Us? Who else is here?” Louis laughs, looking at her like he still can’t quite believe his eyes.

Zayn’s stomach feels like a tsunami is crashing against the walls of it when Christina steps inside, pulling a carry-on behind her. She’s changed her hair colour since he’s last seen her, lilac now pale blonde. She’s wearing one of Zayn’s leather jackets, the one with the skull Zayn painted onto the back that he leaves at her place because she says it’s good luck when she performs in it. 

Zayn feels like his throat is stuck, like time’s gone still. 

“Who is it?” Harry asks, suddenly at Zayn’s heel. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL~**

 

“Oh shit,” Niall says, face straight. 

“Fuck. Zayn’s fucked.” 

He starts cackling, shaking his head disbelievingly. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. His fuckin’ girlfriend’s here. I need a minute to catch my breath.” 

“This, my friends, is what you call ‘busted’. He’s fucked. He’s fucking fucked.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**


	7. THE STORM PART 2

\--  
 **EPISODE 6: THE STORM PART 2**  
\--

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: HARRY AND GEMMA~**

 

Harry slings an arm around Gemma’s shoulders, pulling her against his side as she rolls her eyes, more fond than exasperated. “This is my sister, Gemma. The show’s apparently flown in the people we said we’re closest to as a surprise for our last hurrah. Guess everyone else was busy.” 

“Oi, don’t be rude,” Gemma pinches Harry’s side.

Harry winces, wriggling away as much as he can without having to move his arm. “I’m just kidding. I missed you a lot. Your hair’s cool. It’s pink now. Was blue when I last saw it.” 

Gemma preens, running her fingers through it. “Yours is a bit different, as well; you’ve got natural highlights from all the sun now. You should let me put some colour on them.” 

“Yeah? What colour would you recommend?” 

Gemma shrugs. “We could probably match. I’ve got some pink left over, I think it would look good on you.” 

“Really?” Harry frowns thoughtfully, stretching out one of the strands of hair that usually curls around his ear, inspecting it between his fingers. “You really think pink would suit me?”

“Definitely.” 

Harry narrows his eyes, bottom lip pouting outwards. “You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?” 

Gemma smirks, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ve missed you terribly.” 

Harry ‘s bottom lip pouts even further.

“So this is the mansion you’ve run off to,” Gemma says, looking around the room. “I’m jealous. Your housemates are fit, too. Especially the blond one.” 

“No,” Harry says abruptly, sitting upright. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Is that the one you fancy? Zayn?” Gemma laughs.

“Uh, no, Zayn’s the one with the dark hair and tattoos,” Harry says, deflating. “Really sharp cheekbones.” 

Gemma folds her arms across her chest, brow furrowed. “The one with the girlfriend in the leather jacket that was just on the same flight as me?” 

Harry shrugs, looking down at his knobbly knees and Zayn’s Bob Marley t-shirt that still smells like Gucci Guilty and cigarette smoke.

Gemma’s gaze softens. “H, what’s going on?” 

“Let’s go for a drive, get some sushi or something,” Harry says, standing. “I don’t want to talk about it in here.” 

Gemma nods, her eyes worried. “Alright.” She stands, too, hooking their arms together.

“Wait,” Harry says, pulling her back down so their faces are right in the camera’s view. “I can’t leave like that, it’s too dramatic. I’m going to tell a knock-knock joke to lighten the mood. Then we can go.” 

Gemma looks at Harry like he’s lost his mind. 

“Knock, knock,” he says. 

Gemma continues to stare. 

“You’re supposed to say ‘who’s there?’,” Harry tells her patiently, blinking slowly. “Let’s try again: knock, knock.”

 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

Zayn doesn’t bother to turn the balcony light on. He’s glad it’s dark outside, black shadows falling and bits of light slipping through the cracks from inside the house and around the property and the few stars sprinkled in the sky. 

It all feels a bit like a comedy written by Shakespeare now that everything’s come full circle: pointless misunderstandings and deceit and an ending that’s aged less pure than intended for the original audience, reads more sardonic with each year that passes because it lacks 21st century ideas of fairness, complete with the physical environment being a reflection of the protagonist’s emotional state, because it’s dark and rainy in Ibiza and the moon’s hidden behind clouds. 

Zayn lights a cigarette as Christina steps out of the bedroom. She’s taken the jacket off, wearing a thin summer dress, all long legs and red lips. She joins Zayn on the day bed, and all Zayn can think about is that morning he’d woken up with Harry in this very spot, how Harry’d called him gorgeous and gently slid a thumb down his cheek when Zayn finally opened his eyes. 

He can hear Niall and his friend, Eoghan getting louder and louder with each shot they take, making Liam and his two mates, Tom and Andy laugh out, too. They’re making plans to go out later, arguing about clubs they’re searching through on someone’s laptop. Liam wants a hiphop night, Eoghan wants electronic. Zayn can’t hear Louis anymore, but he figures Louis’ sequestered himself and Eleanor in the shag shack, making up for lost time. 

He’d also been able to see Harry and his sister get into one of the Range Rovers and drive off from his perch on the balcony. He wishes he’d said something more than ‘This is Christina’ when Harry asked who it was, before Christina’d taken one look at Harry wearing Zayn’s shirt and figured it out and walked straight past him and Zayn followed her because he didn’t know what else to do. 

“You want one?” Zayn asks, holding out the pack of Marlboros. 

Christina shrugs, sliding one out in spite of herself. She puts it between her lips and Zayn lights it for her like he always has. But it doesn’t feel like a comforting habit now. He’s so anxious his hands are shaking. 

“How was your audition on Monday? For the record company?” Zayn lights another cig for himself off the butt of the one still in his mouth. He doesn’t usually chain smoke like this unless he’s stressed out or drinking, and this is a crippling case of the former. 

“Went well, thanks for asking,” Christina says, blowing smoke up at the ceiling. “Haven’t heard back as yet.”

“They’ll call you back,” Zayn says. 

Christina turns to him. The light hitting her eyes makes the brown of them look amber. “Zayn, can we cut the bullshit?” 

Zayn’s throat tightens. It feels like he can barely breathe. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip where the skin is chapped. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I shouldn’t have come, obviously, but it’s not like it’s fair of you to cheat on me and expect me to just go away.” 

Zayn sighs. He hates fighting with her. “Are we even still together? It’s not like you’ve been taking my calls or anything.” 

“Because I was _livid_! So I don’t talk to you for a few days, after you do this to me again, and you take it as the go-ahead to fuck about some more? I’ve got to give it to you for originality this time: Harry’s certainly not what you usually go for when you can’t keep your prick to yourself. So you’ve just been having your little holiday fling, thinking I’ll take you back when it’s over? You’ve humiliated me in front of the entire fucking world, Zayn.” 

“Who said I was going to come back? I thought we were over. I just thought I owed too much to you to do it over the phone,” Zayn says, harsher than he would’ve liked when he sees the hurt flash across Christina’s face. He isn’t even sure that he means it. There’s always been a part of him whispering that he’ll return to what he knows when he’s back at home, away from all this craziness without Harry in arm’s reach and Louis a bed over. 

“How have you been here only two weeks and changed so much? Is the sex that good, babe?” she laughs cruelly. “You really convinced yourself you’d leave me for someone you barely know? Do you even know Harry’s last name?” 

It all sounds so stupid when she says it like that, trivial. But she doesn’t understand, and Zayn doesn’t understand, either. He just knows what he feels. He gets up, flicking his half-smoked cigarette into the yard. 

“I know I shouldn’t have come, and it’s obvious you don’t want me here—“ 

Zayn sighs, spinning on his heel to look at her. Her eyes are wet and he hates himself for doing this again, another night of them screaming at each other that ends with them getting back together because Zayn hates to make Christina cry and she keeps convincing herself that it’ll be different if they just try a little bit harder. 

“Even if it’s not with Harry, even if I go back home and I’m just alone… we can’t keep doing this,” Zayn says. “This clearly isn’t working. I’ve hurt you so many times, and for what? I just keep doing it again. We’re not good for each other.” 

“You’re one of my best friends, how the fuck are we not good for each other?” Christina stands, getting into his face.

“I’ll always love you, babe, you know that. It just, it can’t work like this and I’m not going to say we should just be friends because that’s patronising and it should ultimately be up to you to decide if you want to forgive me.” 

Christina shakes her head, taking a drag off her cigarette. Mascara’s begun to leave dark trails on her cheeks. “You’re such a prick.”

“I know.”

“This is really how we’re breaking up?”

Zayn shrugs a shoulder. “This is why I wanted to wait until I was back home.” 

Christina runs a hand through her hair, leaning over the balcony. Zayn looks at her profile; he’s always loved it, the pointed tip of her nose and her pouty bottom lip. “They’re probably going to edit this to make me look like a bitch. Who knows what you’ve been saying…” 

“Hey,” Zayn squeezes her shoulder. “I’ve never said anything bad about you. You know I wouldn’t do that. I’m the one who’s horrible, alright? It’ll show.” 

She lets out a small laugh, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Zayn, did you ever really love me? Like, seriously. I could never understand why you could be so perfect one minute and then do things like this.” 

“I’m not lying when I said I’ll always love you, you know? I just… you came along at a good time, my family loves you, I guess I convinced myself we’d always be together because you just fit right in. It felt like it was easy, like you were the perfect girl to get married to and have kids with, we’d even been looking at getting a dog, you know? But I guess something was missing. And I never wanted to hurt you. I felt like I’d just get it out of my system eventually but being here… I feel like it’s something else.” 

“I’m not going to lie, Zayn, I’m really hurt right now even though this isn’t surprising.”

Zayn nods.

“But I’m glad it’s all out there now. This is closure. I’m not going to pretend I understand how you could just, fuck someone else like that, but what’s done is done. I just need time now.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says again. 

“I don’t want to sound like… ignorant or whatever, but, are you gay then? Do you think that’s what it is? It’s always been girls with you, whenever you cheated?” 

Zayn lights another cigarette. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve messed about with the odd bloke back before I met you—Harry’s just different. I don’t know what it is, but he is. Maybe I’ll put a name to it later but for now, that’s all I’ve got.” 

“That’s fair,” she says, nodding. “Fuck, I’m so tired right now. I’m honestly just, emotionally exhausted.” 

“I really am sorry.” 

“I know,” she says, forcing a small smile. “I’ll feel better in the morning knowing that I won’t have to spend my nights wondering what you’re doing. But for right now, I feel like my heart’s been ripped out of my chest and I’d like to lie down.” 

“You can take my bed, if you’d like—” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The least you can do is help me find a hotel with a really nice big bed and a Jacuzzi.” 

Zayn laughs. It’ll take time, but he thinks they’ll be alright. “I can do that, but you’ve got to promise to write a really scathing song about me when you’ve got your record deal.”

“Oh babe, I’ve got album’s worth.” 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: ZAYN~**

 

“That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

“It’s hard when you’re in the wrong, to like, really put yourself in the position to end something because it’s just more pain you’re putting the other person through. But I think we’re both relieved. In the end, it’s for the better. We’ll always be friends, I think, because we were always friends before anything else.”

“So I felt like it was the right thing to do to go with her to the hotel, help her with her bags and make sure she got in safely.” 

“Now I’m just hoping Harry comes back soon, because I desperately need to talk to him. I owe him an apology for just leaving him like that, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t even tell Christina his name before I went upstairs with her.”

“I just hope he trusts me enough not to think I’ve dropped him just like that. But I don’t know that he does, I haven’t really given him much of a reason to.”

“Fuck, this day’s been mental, doesn’t even feel like it’s really happening. I just want to lie down and sleep for a few days, get my head all clear.” 

“Don’t know how this is all going to end, but I hope it’s a happy one.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION**

It’s still nightfall when Zayn wakes up, the air crisp from the freshly fallen rain. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it feels a long way from sunrise, probably just gone 2 or so. 

He sits up, squinting in the darkness. Liam and Louis aren’t in their beds. He assumes Louis’ going to be in the shag shack for the rest of their stay, and Liam’s probably still at a club with Niall and their mates from back home. 

Which means Harry should be back. 

Zayn gets up, stubbing his toe hard in his haste to get to Harry’s room. He swears, hobbling a bit but not slowing down. 

Both Niall and Harry’s beds are empty. 

His stomach sinks with a bad feeling as he runs down the stairs, looking in the kitchen where there are sticky shot glasses and empty bottles of beer and vodka scattered on the countertop. 

Harry’s not in the bathroom or in the pool or in the phone room, and there’s no trace of his sister, either. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: HARRY~**

 

“I got too drunk to drive home, so we had to take a cab,” Harry laughs, face flushed. “I’ve never drank so much sake in my life.” 

“Everyone’s gone out, I think, it was really quiet when we got back. Zayn was gone, and so was Christina… So, I think we can all assume this ended exactly like I knew it was going to. They’re back together and I look stupid because I kept pushing him to be with me when it was probably obvious to everyone else that he wasn’t going to be.” 

“This isn’t a very manly confession, but I locked myself in the toilet and cried for like half an hour when we got back.”

“ I’m not someone who just cries all the time, you know? This isn’t me. I like to think positively and I don’t think I can do that anymore. I’m tired of being sad all the time.” 

“This is as close as I’ve ever got to being in love and just like that it’s over. He chose her, I don’t even know why they had to leave together. The least he could’ve done was waited until I got back to tell me. But I guess because Louis’ got the shag shack and they were in a hurry to be alone. I don’t know.” 

Harry wipes his eyes with the stretched collar of his shirt, sniffling. 

“I’ve asked Gem to help pack my things. She’s not exactly pleased with me for getting involved with Zayn when I knew he had a girlfriend, but she’s upset with him, too now. She thinks leaving’s a good idea. Gem’s smart, so I’m just going to listen to her, go back home, maybe eat some chicken…” 

“I’m really sad I couldn’t make it to the end, because I don’t like giving up on things. But I just… I can’t sit around and pretend I’m alright. I can’t do it.” 

“I don’t want to have a big party. I just want to go home, see my mum and bake with her and probably fuck Ben again just because that makes Zayn angry and Ben actually likes me.”

“I’m keeping this bloody Bob Marley shirt, too.” 

“At least until it doesn’t smell like him anymore.” 

“That’s so pathetic,” Harry sighs, getting onto unsteady feet. “I can’t believe I’m leaving now, but… I don’t want anyone to stop me or try to talk me out of it. I hope they all have fun and we’ll all see each other again at some point.” 

“I just can’t do it anymore.” 

“Bye, _Ibiza Shore_. Thank you for the friendships, the tan, and for teaching me I can get my leg over my head if I really feel like I need to.” 

He blows a kiss. “You’ve all been lovely. I have to go now; have a flight to catch.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**


	8. HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

\--  
 **EPISODE 7: COMING HOME**  
\--

Zayn tries to go back to sleep, tells himself Harry and his sister will be back by the time he wakes up, that they’ll be able to talk then, hash it all out over cups of coffee while the others get breakfast going in the kitchen. He’ll finally let Harry know that Zayn’s not just going to disappear on him, that they can try to do this properly, that Christina’s out of the picture for good. That Zayn’s chosen him. 

But Zayn can’t sleep; he’s restless. He tosses and turns, waking up with a sudden anxious start whenever he comes close to entering a deep sleep. He’s just got a bad feeling about this, and Zayn’s bad feelings are rarely wrong. 

“Fuck it,” he mutters, getting up and reaching for the pack of smokes on the table between his and Liam’s bed. He thinks they’re actually Liam’s, but Liam won’t notice one missing—he doesn’t smoke as much as Zayn does and Zayn’s pack is running low because he’s been chain-smoking all night. 

He pulls his shirt off, skin damp with nervous sweat in spite of the fact that the air’s got a cooler crisp than it usually does. 

He can’t keep still when he’s on the balcony, paces back and forth as he puffs on his cig. It’s like he’s slowly going crazy. He just can’t stop worrying. He’s beginning to wonder if Harry’s been in an accident or if he’s out somewhere pulling someone because he thinks Zayn’s done with him again. 

The limo pulls into the driveway and Zayn’s heart leaps into his throat. He quickly flicks his fag over the ledge, running downstairs before he can even see who’s getting out. 

Niall spills in through the front door just as Zayn’s about to open it. He’s got one of Liam’s arms around his neck and Liam’s mate Tom’s got the other. They’re holding his weight up, Liam so _pissed_ between them that he’s not even using his feet as the drag him over to the couch. 

The rest of their mates trickle in, laughing and chattering all drunk and loose, Sophia trailing behind them, holding onto Liam’s snapback with her little manicured hands. 

Zayn lets out a disappointed sigh as he closes the door after them. 

“Have any of you lot seen Harry recently?” Zayn asks, watching as Eoghan tackles Niall onto the ground and they start play fighting. 

“He went out to dinner with his sister, innit?” Liam answers in a moment of lucidity before exclaiming, “Fuck! I’m pissed and I wanna watch Batman. I am Batman,” he holds Sophia’s hand, “You could be my Catwoman. You’d look so fit in a cat suit, oh my God.” 

Sophia laughs, rolling her eyes and pressing a kiss to Liam’s knuckles. “Maybe for your birthday.” 

“I’m the fuckin’ man,” Liam slurs, eyes fluttering shut as he pulls Sophia down with him. 

Liam’s mates have moved onto the kitchen, helping themselves to more alcohol as Niall and Eoghan continue to shriek and roll about on the floor. 

Zayn feels like he’s in a bloody madhouse and he’s about to explode. 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: LOUIS AND ELEANOR~**

 

“I think my dick is chafed,” Louis proclaims, his face blissed out and flushed. 

Eleanor giggles on his lap, rolling her eyes and kissing him on the cheek. “Don’t be a pig.” 

“I’m not being a pig, I’m just happy that my amazing girlfriend’s finally here and I _finally_ got to let all my sexual frustration out. You don’t know what it’s been like: Niall’s been having threesomes and has somehow managed to pull a model, Liam’s been with Sophia, and Zayn and Harry are like bloody rabbits—”

Eleanor laughs. “I know, babe, that’s all you’ve been saying on the phone, and you’ve also been saying it all night.”

“Haven’t been saying it all night,” Louis pouts, kissing her neck. “Been fucking you all night.” 

“All night? That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” 

“Oi, didn’t hear you complaining, don’t be getting cheeky for the camera.” 

“What are you going to do about it?” she flicks his chest playfully. 

Louis leans in to kiss her before he squints at something over her shoulder. “Wait, what’s that?” 

“What?” She follows his gaze. 

“There’s a piece of paper stuck to the wall over there.” 

“Looks like a note.” 

Louis blinks at her expectantly.

She blinks back. “What, you expect me to walk over and fetch it for you?” 

“Well, you’re on my lap…”

Eleanor slides into the other seat. “Not on your lap anymore.” 

Louis glares at her before getting up and going over to rip the note off the wall. 

“Fuck me,” he says, frowning at it as he reads. 

“What’s going on?”

“Harry’s left the house---this is the note he left.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

_’Hiii pals, I’m reallyreallyreally sorry about this but I just can’t stay here anymore. It’s no one’s fault so please don’t worry too much or anything. I just need time to clear my head and I think going home early is the best way to do it. Much love and I hope to see you all soon. xxx –H’_

The note’s exactly like Louis had read aloud a moment ago, but Zayn keeps reading it over and over, Harry’s hand writing sloppy and rushed looking. 

Zayn’s livid.

“He just fucking left? Seriously? Without saying goodbye to anyone?” He balls the note up, throwing it without caring where it lands. “Why would he just go home?” 

“I dunno, but I’m sad about it,” Niall says. “Top lad.” 

Liam snores loudly where he’s still twisted up on the sofa. Sophia’s disappeared upstairs to kip in his bed. 

“I don’t know why Curly’d do that. I’m shocked,” Louis says, but he looks at Zayn a fraction too long and Zayn knows what he’s thinking, what Niall’s probably also thinking: that Zayn’s the cause of it.

Zayn knows deep down that he has to be, but h doesn’t understand _why_. He hasn’t done anything, things between them had been going well up until when they’d last spoken. Surely Harry didn’t think Zayn going up to talk with Christina meant something more than it did…? 

“Are all his things gone already?” Zayn asks, running a hand through his hair.

Louis nods. “Yeah, checked his room. Everything that isn’t Niall’s is gone.” 

“No, fuck this. He can’t have got on a flight already,” Zayn snaps, turning to the cameraman. “Get this fucking thing out of my face.” 

The cameraman frowns at him, raising a hand and making a ‘what the fuck do you want me to do?’ type of gesture.

“I need to talk to the producer or something. I’m fucking serious.” 

It takes ten minutes of Zayn raising his voice and threatening to start trashing the house to get the producer to show up on set, a timid looking older bloke named Cal. 

“Where’s Harry? You still know where he is, don’t you?” Zayn asks, wincing because his throat’s starting to get scratchy with all the smoking and yelling that’s gone on.

Cal sighs, looking resigned. “Yes, we do, but you need to calm down.” 

“I’m calm,” Zayn snaps, losing his patience all over again. 

Cal doesn’t look convinced. 

Zayn takes a deep breath, prays for the strength not to throw his fist into this guy’s teeth and get himself in trouble. 

“Where’s Harry?” he tries again. 

“We put him up at a hotel. There was no available flight for tonight. He’s also too drunk, we didn’t want to have him travelling like that.” 

“Drunk?” Zayn frowns. “Is he alright?” 

“He’s with his sister; he’s fine.” 

“I need to see him. What hotel is he at?” 

“We can’t just let you go there. Harry’s not technically a cast member, you’d need his permission—“ 

Zayn’s getting so annoyed he’s starting to shake, jaw clenched. 

Cal quickly continues, “I know you two have got a complicated situation going on, so I _can_ give you the number to the hotel. You can call and talk to him and it’s his prerogative to allow you to see him.” 

“Alright,” Zayn says, suddenly anxious again. “Please, please give me the number.” 

There’s still a chance and he’s not going to fuck up this time. He refuses to let it end like this. 

Gemma answers the phone when Zayn rings the room number. 

“Can you put Harry on?” Zayn says so quickly that he doesn’t even know if she understood him. 

“Is this Zayn?” she asks after a beat, purposefully slow. 

“Yes, this is Zayn. Can I please, talk to Harry?” 

“Why do you want to talk to him? Does your girlfriend know you’re doing this?” 

“I don’t have a girlfriend—is that why Harry’s left? He thinks I’ve got back with Christina? Because I haven’t. We’ve broken up. I need to talk to him.” 

Gemma lets out a deep sigh as she deliberates on what to say next. “And you’re sure about that this time?”

“Absolutely.” 

“I’m going to be honest, Zayn, I’m sceptical of this whole thing with you and Harry. You made him cry today, and I’m sure this isn’t the first time.” 

Zayn’s shoulders drop. He hates letting Harry down, can practically see Harry’s red face and glassy eyes. Harry’s got the kind of crying face that’s still attractive, wears sadness just the right way to pull at your heartstrings. Zayn imagines he could get anyone to donate money to a charity of his choosing just by letting a few tears fall down his cheeks. 

“Can I just talk to him?” Zayn asks again, pulling nervously at the telephone cord and wrapping it around his fingers.

“He’s passed out. He had a lot to drink tonight.” 

Zayn’s heart sinks. “What time’s the flight tomorrow?” 

“It’s in the afternoon.” 

Zayn doesn’t know what to say. He feels defeated. 

Neither of them says anything for a while, just quiet on the other end. Zayn’s surprised Gemma doesn’t hang up on him. 

Niall pokes his head into the phone room. “What’s up with Harry?” he asks Zayn, louder than he’d probably intended because he’s still pissed. 

Zayn raises a finger at Niall, telling him to keep quiet. 

“Can you just give me the address then? So I can come by in the morning.” 

“Zayn, I don’t know that that’s a good idea—I need to talk to Harry about it—“ 

“Please, Gemma, fuck.”

Gemma sighs. “Alright.” 

\--

Gemma doesn’t look at all surprised when she answers the door twenty minutes later. Her pink hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she’s wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and striped pyjama bottoms. Zayn is struck for a moment by how alike she and Harry look, but where Harry’s face is bright and open, Gemma’s is sharp, like she’s jaded where Harry’s still got that boyish wonder about him. Where Harry’s an open book, Gemma needs time to open up. 

And she doesn’t look like she’ll be doing that with Zayn any time soon. 

“I told you Harry’s asleep,” she says, stepping aside anyway.

There are two beds in the room. On one bed there’s a big handbag that obviously belongs to Gemma, a MacBook open beside it. Harry is on the other bed, a trail of socks and shoes and jeans leading to him. He’s a mad splay of limbs, the sheets twisted up awkwardly around him. His hair is a wild mess of curls and straighter bits sticking up in every direction and Zayn can see he’s still wearing his Bob Marley shirt. 

His heart skips a beat. 

“What are you doing?” Gemma asks as Zayn kicks his shoes off, walking over to Harry’s bed.

He gets in next to him, curls around him as best as he can and buries his face in Harry’s neck. Harry lets out a soft noise that’s almost like a moan, shifting closer. His eyelids flutter for a moment, but he doesn’t wake up. 

Zayn kisses his shoulder and holds him until he falls asleep. 

\--

Zayn feels a shift in the bed and knows it means Harry’s awake. 

The blinds are open and Harry’s staring down at Zayn with a puffy, confused face. 

“Zayn?” he asks, like there’s a possibility that his eyes are playing tricks on him. 

“Hey,” Zayn says with a yawn, pulling himself upright.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, making even more of a mess of it. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from leaving. At least hear me out first—“ 

“You left me there, Zayn, I don’t understand—“ 

Zayn kisses him to shut him up. They’ve both got terrible morning breath and it’s gross and Zayn still feels like he could kiss Harry forever. 

He pulls back. “I didn’t leave you anywhere. I should’ve said something but I froze up. Christina and I aren’t together. Like, we’ve properly broken up. It’s officially over.” 

“What?” 

“We went upstairs to talk. We broke up. That’s it.” 

“But you weren’t there when I got back…?”

“I went with her to her hotel. Nothing happened; I just wanted to get her in safely. Least I could do, you know?” 

Harry doesn’t say anything. He just looks confused and a little like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, pulling at his bottom lip as he mulls things over. 

“I’m really hungover,” he says, just as Zayn says, “I chose you.” 

Harry’s eyes widen, pure green in the sunlight. A big smile slowly spreads across his face, all dimples and white teeth. “Zayn,” he says softly, sliding his hand on top of Zayn’s.

“I couldn’t let you leave, not without hearing me out. I fucking yelled at the producer and everything to find you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Harry says, looking down at their hands, his own so much bigger than Zayn’s is. “I’m sorry.” 

Zayn shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“We really made a mess of things, didn’t we?” he smirks ruefully. 

Zayn laughs. “At least the show’ll be interesting to watch.” 

Harry throws himself at Zayn, arms wrapping around Zayn’s middle as he squeezes him tight, pushing him back down into the mattress. Zayn squeezes him back. 

“I think I might be falling for you,” Zayn quietly admits. 

“I fell for you the first time we kissed,” Harry says back, leaning in to kiss Zayn again. 

“Oh Christ,” Gemma says from where she’s stood in the doorway to the bathroom.

Harry _giggles_ , hiding his face in Zayn’s chest. 

“Well, at least you two’ve made up,” Gemma shrugs, offering Zayn a small smile that’s both permission and a warning. 

Zayn kisses the top of Harry’s head. 

 

 

**~CONFESSION ROOM: NIALL, ZAYN, LIAM, HARRY, AND LOUIS~**

 

“I’m not gonna lie, I’ll miss all of ya,” Niall says. 

“I know, it’s mental, I feel like we’ve been here so long but at the same time it wasn’t long at all but we’ re like family now,” Liam says, prompting Louis to rest a comforting hand on his back. 

“I don’t know how I’ll go back to a regular life without Harry’s naked arse making appearances at the breakfast table,” Louis says, laughing at Harry’s faux-offended little ‘Heeeey’. 

“At least I won’t have that problem,” Zayn says, licking his lips and sucking his bottom lip under his teeth at Harry. 

“My naked arse is yours whenever you want it,” Harry winks, looking at Zayn like he wants to devour him whole and not even leave the bones behind. 

The others all look on with expressions of vague discomfort and fondness and a healthy share of exasperation. 

“I think now’s a good time for a group hug before we have to go,” Liam says quickly. 

“Please,” Louis agrees, hugging Zayn before he can pounce on Harry. 

“My brothers,” Niall says, joining in on the hug as Liam and Harry do, too. “Best family in the world.” 

 

**~END OF CONFESSION~**

 

 

“Rewatching all of that was fucking painful,” Zayn says, shutting the telly off. “They made me look like a twat.” 

“Yeah, well at least you weren’t naked or drunk and crying in every scene,” Harry pouts. “I mean, I understand I spent a lot of time doing all of those things, but I think it’s a bit of an unfair portrayal.” 

“Was it?” Zayn deadpans just as their dog, Gucci, comes scuttling into the living room of their flat. 

He and Harry moved in together shortly after returning to London and realising the whole waking up without each other thing was bollocks. They put their earnings together and got a decent-sized flat and a pug and a bearded dragon named Arnie and they’re thinking of getting a cat soon. The flat’s full of vintage knickknacks Harry’s acquired at antique shops, as weird artwork that Harry’s taken up collecting, quirky prints about sex that Zayn takes down whenever his mum comes round for a visit. There are even framed pieces of Zayn’s embarrassing doodles hanging in the living room. 

Zayn knows they’re ridiculous, moving too fast, but he doesn’t know how to take his time with Harry and Harry doesn’t know how to take his time with Zayn. They just need each other and that’s the way it is. 

“When are the others coming over to watch the last episode?” Harry asks, leaning down to scoop Gucci into his lap, scratch behind his ears as Gucci snuffles at Zayn’s hand.

“Probably not for another few hours. What’s up?” 

“Time for a shag?” 

Harry puts Gucci down. “Race you to the bedroom.” 

“If I get there first we’re trying out those handcuffs.” 

Harry doesn’t even try to win. 

 

\--

 

_’Ibiza Shore’ is every bit as crass and obnoxious as you’d been expecting. Nothing of substance occurs, and the amount of sex scenes makes you wonder if this was MTV’s attempt at airing pornography under the guise of it being reality television. However, there’s something loveable about ‘Ibiza Shore’ that makes it a guilty pleasure. The lads are attractive and endearing and their friendship warms the heart in between all the gratuitous threesomes and nightclub scenes, and laddish malarkey. The show also features a same-sex couple whose rocky relationship has left us intrigued, and not just because they’re both gorgeous._

_As much as it pains us to admit it, we wouldn’t be opposed to a second season._  
Christopher Hooten, _Metro UK_


End file.
